The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel
by Miss Snazzy
Summary: After saving Bella from a vampire, two hunters will take up a new job—protecting her from the crazy redhead bent on getting revenge. New Moon AU. Season 3 AU. Eventual Dean/Bella romance. Sam/Bella friendship. Episodic format.
1. Laurent

**Author's Notes: This takes place in New Moon, when Laurent found Bella in the meadow. As for the Winchester boys, this takes place after the first episode of Season 3.**

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel

As I stared into Laurent's dark eyes, I wondered if—not for the first time—I had lost my mind.

There was once a time when I would have been more afraid, more willing to fight back. I would have done just about anything to escape, to survive.

This was different though. Not because this particular vampire was being cordial in his intent to kill me, or the fact that he didn't have my mother's life to use as a bargaining chip, but because I realized with a startling clarity that I _wanted_ it.

I had never been suicidal, but after everything, I couldn't bring myself to want to live enough to even _try_.

Regardless of my current feelings, that realization was more than a little unsettling.

Was I so very broken that I couldn't even muster the slightest desire to escape?

"Please," I gasped, both a plea for postponement and a lack of words to express how pathetic I had become.

"Look at it this way, Bella. You're very lucky I was the one to find you."

"Am I?"

"Yes. I'll be very quick. You won't feel a thing, I promise. Oh, I'll lie to Victoria about it later, naturally, just to placate her. But if you knew what she had planned for you, Bella... I swear you'd be thanking me for this."

I imagined what would have happened if Victoria had shown up here instead of Laurent, and shuddered at the gruesome tortures my mind conjured up. Would she have broken my bones, one by one in an homage to James? There were an endless stream of possibilities and even I wasn't so far gone that I didn't fear her.

I didn't flinch or falter as Laurent stepped closer, all poise and cat-like as if after tearing through my neck, he planned to procure a napkin to dab at his mouth.

"Not so fast, Lestat!" a male voice yelled some distance away.

Laurent turned and I peeked around him to find a man across the field, slowly making his way toward us. As he grew closer, I noticed that he had some kind of weapon in his hand—a crossbow, I think—and although he was smiling good-naturedly, even I could see the aggressive stance he was taking.

I didn't know who this man was or how he had found us, but the fact that he had a weapon made it more than clear that he came here with purpose. He must not have been well informed, however, if he thought an arrow would make any difference against a vampire. Laurent's chuckle affirmed my thoughts.

"And who are you?" I could hear the grin in his voice. "The hero, come to save the damsel?"

The man stopped a few feet ahead of us. He was wearing an old leather jacket that had obvious signs of prolonged use and faded jeans. His hair was short, although not drastically so, and light brown. If I had to guess, I'd say he was somewhere in his early or mid-twenties.

"I'm Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, come to kill myself a vampire," the man replied with a smirk.

So the man did know what he was up against and yet, he had come here anyway, bearing a useless weapon. Although he knew what Laurent was, I didn't think he knew all of the details. If he did, then he was either brave, or just incredibly stupid.

"You should run," I blurted, feeling ridiculous when he only quirked an eyebrow at me, unfazed by my warning.

I knew Laurent was much too fast for the man to actually escape. He was also a human who knew about the existence of vampires, and therefore wouldn't be allowed to just leave. Yet, I knew I was responsible for Laurent's presence here and I didn't want this man getting hurt because he thought he could save me.

My only hope was that Laurent would be too busy draining me to keep the man from escaping.

"No can do, Sweet Cheeks," the man smirked at me and I blushed even harder at the reference to my still burning cheeks.

"She is right you know," Laurent said conversationally, "You really should run."

"We're not really the running type, are we Sammy?" the man hollered passed us.

I glanced behind me to find another man not too far away, wielding a similar weapon.

"Definitely not!" he agreed.

This man looked around the same age as the other, although there was something about him that made him seem more boyish. He was also more...shaggy, both in clothing and his longer hairstyle.

"Well, now that you two are here, I won't have to incur Victoria's ire," Laurent noted.

His gaze left the first man as he turned back to me.

"I suppose you will have to endure what she has planned for you," Laurent explained sadly, as if taking me to her was such a travesty and beyond his control. "I pity you, Bella, for the horrors you will undoubtedly experience."

Laurent turned back toward the first man and I began to panic.

"Wait! Don't hurt them. You came here for me," I pleaded pointlessly.

I knew it was of no use. Laurent's steps didn't falter and he didn't acknowledge me.

"Don't worry about us. We can take him," the first man assured me with a wink, aiming his crossbow at Laurent.

Laurent stopped walking, tilting his head to the side in curiosity.

"Do you truly believe your measly arrows can stop me?" Laurent asked, amused.

There was an audible click and as it rang through the air, instinct kicked in. I dropped to the ground as both men fired, knowing that even if the arrows wouldn't affect Laurent, they could easily kill me.

The first slid straight into Laurent's chest, right where his heart would be if he had one. I had to assume that his had shriveled up long ago, along with his humanity. The second sunk into the back of his neck. I had no doubt that those shots would've been lethal, had Laurent been human.

It took me a moment to register what I was actually seeing.

Those arrows were _in_ Laurent, meaning that they would've had to puncture through his stony skin. As far as I knew, nothing but another vampire could do that.

"Did you know that if another vampire's venom is introduced to their 'bloodstream' it can work as a temporary paralyzer? Happens pretty rarely because a bite won't do it," the second man spoke up as he approached.

I slowly stood up, glancing between the two men and Laurent, who had gone curiously still. Cautiously, I crept around Laurent to get a look at his face.

His entire body was frozen, even his dark eyes remained wide open, as if he had a brief moment to register surprise before he lost use of his limbs. Although I knew vampires could remain perfectly still if they chose to, it was still a disturbing sight to behold.

"You... _How?_" I breathed out, too shocked to form a coherent sentence.

"With these," the second man withdrew an arrow from the bag draped over his shoulder. "They've been dipped in vampire venom."

The arrowhead was thin and sharp, with a distinct shine to it that I supposed was the venom.

"But how—"

"The weapons lesson is over," the first man interrupted. "We need to torch this bastard before that stuff wears off."

Both men pulled a lighter out of their coat pocket, almost moving in sync. Despite their different styles of dress, they seemed similar and I wondered if they were related.

"Might want to stand back, Sweet Cheeks," the first man warned me.

Although a part of me wanted to rebel, to insist that I could handle whatever would happen next, I did step back. Truthfully, I was still a little too shocked by how drastically the situation had shifted to resist.

The men set fire to various parts of Laurent's clothing and I was shocked by how easily the flames spread to his skin, as if he was coated in gasoline. The fire was practically _feasting_ on him.

Laurent's eyes were still wide open and the horror I found there made me sick. Despite his inability to move, he could obviously _feel_ himself being burned alive.

"You shouldn't be watching this," the first man sighed in exasperation, when he noticed my fixed gaze.

I hadn't noticed his approach, nor did I resist when he took a hold of my arms and turned me away. I didn't think I would ever be able to forget what I had just witnessed. There was also a sickly sweet smell filling the air in the form of thick purple smoke, so potent that I began coughing.

I remember reading somewhere that the smell of burnt flesh was something you could never forget, as if it was seared in your nostrils. I imagined that the smell of burnt _vampire_ flesh wouldn't be any different.

"He just... He just _stood there_."

"Yeah, this one was definitely a cocky bastard. They really should learn not to underestimate us," the man replied gruffly.

"Us?" I whipped around to look at him, willing my gaze to stay on his face. I didn't want to watch Laurent turn to ash. "Who are you people? How do you know about vampires? How did—"

"Whoa there! Before you go on playing twenty questions, we have some of our own."

I stared at him, noting the resolve in the set of his jaw. I didn't know what information they wanted, but I had a horrible feeling that it would be about _them_. After seeing what they were able to do to Laurent, I was worried.

"I'm not going to answer any of your questions if you aren't going to answer any of mine," I stated stubbornly.

The first man quirked an eyebrow at me and his mouth once again lifted into a smirk.

"You just watched us gank a _vampire_ and yet, you're trying to call the shots?" he asked incredulously. "You're either brave, or just plain stupid."

I almost wanted to laugh because that was what I had thought about him when he first showed up.

"She's right Dean," the second man intervened before I could reply. "We can't really expect her to trust us if we don't trust her," he finished, reasonably.

"How about the fact that we just saved her life?" the first man, who I now knew as Dean, muttered gruffly.

The second man ignored him and offered me his hand instead.

"I'm Sam and this is my brother, Dean," he introduced with a smile.

"Bella," I replied once he had released my hand.

"So Bella, how about we each ask a question? Alternate, you know?" Sam suggested.

Dean rolled his eyes, while I just nodded. It was the best deal I was going to get. Besides, although I was worried about what they would ask, I was dying to get some answers.

"Who are you?" I blurted, before rushing to elaborate. "I mean, obviously you aren't just a couple of normal guys who happen to carry around venom-dipped arrows..."

The brothers shared a look that reminded me of the silent conversations _they_ used to have when they didn't want anyone to overhear. It was still remarkably annoying.

"We're hunters," Sam finally replied after a moment.

"Hunters?"

"Nuh-uh. It's our turn to ask a question," Dean pointed out.

This time I rolled my eyes, gesturing for them to go ahead.

"You knew the vampire," Sam began. It wasn't a question, so I didn't respond, although I was surprised he had caught on to that fact. "How?"

"I met him once before," I replied, vaguely.

"How did you meet him before?" Dean interjected.

"Nuh-uh. It's my turn to ask a question," I mimicked him, surprising myself.

I guess now that the adrenaline had worn off, I wasn't in the mood for his attitude.

"That was Sam's question. This one's mine," he smirked.

I narrowed my eyes at him, annoyed that he was trying to manipulate the little game we were playing in his favor.

"That's kind of cheating," I pointed out.

He shrugged in response, nodding at me to proceed. I sighed loudly in defeat.

"A member of his coven tried to kill me last year."

"_Tried_?" Dean repeated incredulously, but I ignored him. It was _my_ turn, after all.

"What are hunters?" I directed my question at Sam. "I'm guessing you aren't the normal deer-killing kind."

"No, hunters are people who track down and kill the supernatural. Spirits, Demons, etcetera."

_Demons?_ I wanted to ask, but I knew it wasn't my turn. Although part of me wanted to be skeptical, I wasn't. I had dated a vampire after all—it wouldn't be too far of a stretch to suggest that there were other supernatural creatures out there.

I wondered if _he_ had known, but kept me in the dark.

These men were becoming more and more dangerous. They killed the supernatural and while I was grateful that they had stopped Laurent, I wondered if they hunted indiscriminatively, wiping out any and all creatures they came across, regardless if the being was _good_.

"What happened with the other vampire? How did you survive?" Sam asked, his curiosity evident in the way he shuffled closer, bending his head as if the better angle would reveal more.

He had technically asked two questions, but I wasn't bothered by that right now. No, I was more worried about how much to reveal. I decided to try to be as vague as possible.

"One of the other vampires—James—came after me. I guess I smelled good," I added with a wry smile. "He liked the thrill of the chase though, so he prolonged the hunt. Before he could kill me, someone...else stepped in and, well..." I gestured to the pile of ashes that used to be Laurent. "Now he's gone."

I stared at the ground, unwilling to meet their gazes. I didn't care how they reacted to my story, as long as they didn't ask about—

"Who stepped in? Who saved you?" Dean's questions made me flinch.

Thinking about _who_ had saved me wasn't what hurt. It was the _why_.

Why did they bother to save me if they were just going to leave? I felt like I knew the answer—the same I always came up with when I dwelled on this question. If they hadn't 'saved' me by sucking the venom out, I would have become one of them.

Hell, the prospect of an eternity with me was enough for _him_ to overcome his bloodlust. I must've been blind not to notice a clue that massive.

I shook my head, unwilling to talk about _them_.

"You have to answer. That's part of the game, remember?" Dean pressed.

I continued to shake my head, keeping my lips pressed tight together. I wasn't going to budge on this.

"You said other vampires..." Sam interjected and my gaze snapped up to him. "How many more were in the coven besides James and this guy?" he pointed a thumb at the pile of dust behind him.

I visibly relaxed, realizing who he meant. At first, I had thought he was referring to _them_, having figured out what they are.

"Victoria."

"The one Lestat was talking about?" Dean confirmed.

I nodded at him, before shifting my attention to Sam.

"You said _Demons_ and _Spirits_... What else is out there?" I asked.

"More than you could possibly imagine," Sam replied vaguely.

I sighed, wishing that one of them would give me a straight answer at least once. As it was, they were getting far more information out of me than I was from them.

"So what's the deal with Victoria?"

"She was James's mate," I shuddered, thinking about the crazed redhead. She had looked so _wild_ the last time I saw her. "She...blames me for his death."

I didn't mention the whole 'mate-for-a-mate' speech Laurent had given me. I didn't want to have to explain my involvement with _them_.

"Huh. So the red headed bitch wants revenge."

I looked at Dean in surprise.

"How do you know what she looks like?" I narrowed my eyes.

Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets, seeming unperturbed by my suspicion.

"We've been hunting that crafty bitch since people started going missing in the town over."

A wave of guilt washed over me. While I had been moping about losing the love of my life, people were _dying_.

"How... How many people?" I asked quietly.

"Three or four. Maybe five. We're not too sure. Takes twenty-four hours for a missing person's report to go through," Dean shrugged.

"It's all my fault." I swallowed the bile that was threatening to climb up my throat.

"There's nothing you could've done," Sam tried to comfort me.

I didn't want his reassurances because no matter the reason for Victoria's murders, the fact remained that those people probably wouldn't have died if James had just killed me like he meant to. However, he was right about one thing. I was powerless to stop her.

One day, sometime soon, Victoria would come for me. I only hoped she did so sooner rather than later.

...


	2. Leaving Forks

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel

I sighed, sitting down on my bed and staring into the small duffle bag I had just packed. It seemed so pitiful, the way I was able to fit everything I wanted to take with me in that little bag and still have room for more.

I had grabbed the necessities—shirts, pants, socks, bras, underwear—but apart from that, I really had nothing I wanted to take. There was a good chance I would _die_ before this was over and I had nothing else.

I sighed again, reaching into my closet for the coat Renee had bought me over a year ago. It was during one of her phases—can't quite remember which—when she found this and immediately thought of me. I hadn't seen the appeal initially and I'd been quite surprised when Renee had bought it.

It wasn't flashy or her version of sexy—it was just a simple coat that ended about halfway down my thigh. It was worn and durable, seeming like the perfect thing to wear now that I would be traveling with the Winchester brothers.

It kind of reminded me of Dean's jacket and how even in the few hours I had known him, I could tell that he must think of his as a kind of armor to protect him from the horrors of the world. I decided Renee's old coat would be mine.

I glanced around my room one last time as I slipped the coat on, before grabbing my duffle bag and heading downstairs.

"Ready?" Sam asked, eying my bag.

"Yeah." I tried to offer a small smile, but I think it came out as more of a grimace.

"That's it?" Dean asked incredulously. "Are you sure you're a girl?"

I glared at him, slipping passed them and into the kitchen. I knew I needed to leave Charlie something, anything to explain my sudden disappearance, but I had no idea what to say. Every excuse I had thought up in the last hour fell flat once I gave it more than a second thought.

"We don't have all day."

"I need to leave my dad a note. I need to tell him _something_," I explained.

I could practically hear Dean roll his eyes as he released an exasperated sigh.

"I can't just leave without saying anything." I turned toward them. "He's the Chief of Police."

Sam raised an eyebrow in surprise, while Dean peeked outside, presumably to watch out for Charlie.

"I know this is a small town, but he isn't just going to sit back and accept that I'm gone. He's going to look. He's too stubborn to just wait around and hope I come back on my own."

Charlie was a man of few words and even fewer emotions—at least, that he outwardly showed—but I knew I was right. He wouldn't stop looking until he had some kind of confirmation about my wellbeing.

Dean let out a low whistle.

"Kidnapping the Chief's daughter. That'll look good on our rap sheets, won't it Sammy?"

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and took a step closer to me, his expression suddenly serious.

"I know this is hard, but we really don't have a lot of time. Do you think you can come up with something that he'll accept, that'll draw the least attention to us?"

I was prepared to say no, to tell him I couldn't come up with anything good enough to keep Charlie from making a big deal out of my disappearance, when the perfect excuse finally dawned on me.

I clenched my jaw, willing the tears I could feel gathering in my eyes not to fall. I knew _exactly_ what to say now and that it would hurt to do so. The pain in my chest was beginning to flare, the same feeling I had come to recognize as a warning to hide myself away, if I wanted my anguish to remain private.

I knew I couldn't have that privacy now, not when we were so pressed for time. I swiftly turned back toward the sheet of paper I had been hovering over for the last couple of minutes, my hand shaking as I picked up the pen to write my note. I steeled myself, locking away the pain as I swept the pen across the page in my messy scrawl.

Once the deed was done, I took a deep breath and stuck it to the fridge. Once Charlie read that note, I knew he wouldn't question my absence. He would still worry and maybe he would even look, but he would accept the lie.

I could feel the brothers' curious stare as they tried to peer at the note that had gotten me so worked up. Without a backwards glance, I hustled them out of the kitchen, grabbing my bag before closing the front door for what might be my final time.

Slipping into the backseat of Dean's car, I kept my gaze averted to its interior. Although I wasn't a car fanatic or particularly knowledgeable about such things, I knew that it was an older model. It had clearly been loved and taken care of, and I was reminded of my truck.

I chanced a peek at the rusty behemoth, releasing a sigh of regret that I couldn't take it with me. Still, I knew it was better this way. My truck wouldn't have been able to handle where this trip would take us and by leaving it here, Charlie would know I hadn't just driven away. He would probably think I took a taxi to the airport.

I hoped he wouldn't look up information on my flight, but I knew it was too late to worry about that.

The drive out of Forks passed in silence. I tried to keep my head ducked, just in case anyone recognized me in the back of their car. I knew how the people in this town could be and there wasn't a doubt in my mind that they were curious about these two new arrivals.

I couldn't believe what I was doing—packing up and leaving with a couple of men I had only known for a few hours. They were right though when they told me this was the safest option for everyone. It wasn't like they could just stay here and become my body guards.

Their protection wasn't why I agreed though. I knew I needed to get out of this town because if I wanted to keep Charlie and everyone else nearby safe, I had to lure Victoria away. Part of me worried that running would only make Victoria use Charlie as bait to get to me, but I didn't really think she would.

After all, she couldn't killed me and Charlie at anytime. It had been _months_ since _they_ left. There was no one to stop her from taking her vengeance and yet, she hadn't made her move. I had a feeling she wouldn't either, at least not until making me suffer first, wallowing in my own fear of never knowing when she'd strike.

I was glad when our brief passing through the more heavily populated areas ended, breathing a sigh of relief as I finally raised my head just in time to watch a sign slip by my window.

_You are now leaving Forks._

...


	3. Poetic Justice: Part I

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><span>_"Poetic Justice"_

**Spokane, Washington**

Dean walked passed me and threw his bags onto one of the beds, before reclining back against the headboard and grabbing the remote for the small black television. He switched it on and leisurely began to surf through the channels.

With tentative steps, I moved into the room and took a moment to survey my surroundings. The weathered floral print seemed to fit the cheap motel stereotype. I wondered how the boys managed to afford a room at all with their unconventional career. Did they take the odd menial job every now and then, or was someone else funding their trips?

There were only two beds and with the size of the brothers, I didn't think they'd be sharing with each other. I stood there frowning in indecision for a moment, when I noticed a small cot pressed into the corner. Sighing in relief, I tossed my bag on top of it and took a seat. Sam joined us not long after, dropping his own bag on the floor before setting up his laptop on the small desk.

"A little early for porn, isn't it Sammy?" Dean asked.

I shot a quick glance at Sam, blushing even as he rolled his eyes in exasperation. He wasn't really watching porn, was he?

"I'm not _you_, Dean. I can think about something other than sex for five minutes," Sam replied.

"Oh, that's right. I forgot that you were a chick," Dean smirked.

"Ha ha. Funny," Sam said sarcastically.

"Do you guys always banter like this?" I asked, wondering how two men that hunted the supernatural for a living could seem so...childish.

"Ugh. Another bookworm," Dean groused.

"What?"

"Who says 'banter' anymore?" Dean snickered, shaking his head.

I opened my mouth to reply, but Sam cut in.

"It's called proper English."

"_It's called_ being a Bookworm."

I rolled my eyes, reminded of the kids who used to give me a hard time when I was little for reading so much. It seems that no matter how old I get, there will always be someone there trying to make me feel bad for it.

Sam sighed, apparently just as fed up as I was. Ignoring Dean's teasing, he returned his attention to his laptop. Now that Dean had brought it up, I was curious about what Sam was doing on there. I didn't think he was looking at something like porn, but Dean's comment suggested that Sam didn't spend much time surfing the web without purpose.

"I'm looking up local legends, disappearances—anything out of the ordinary," Sam explained, noticing my stare.

"What for?" Dean asked, finally looking away from the television screen. "In case you forgot, we already have a job," Dean reminded him, sending a pointed look at me.

I looked down at my hands, unnerved by his reference to my situation. I knew they did stuff like this all the time, but being called a 'job' just sounded so impersonal. I found myself wondering how they had become hunters in the first place. Were they doing this to help people, or simply for the _joy_ of killing?

Thinking about Edward and the Cullens, I hoped it was the former.

"Well, Victoria isn't going to walk right in here and let us shoot her, is she? As long as she thinks we're hunting her, she isn't going to risk it," Sam explained.

"So you want to create a false sense of security?" I asked.

"If she thinks we've forgotten about her, she might try to make a move on you. We need to draw her out."

"I'm bait, then?" I asked, not particularly surprised.

"That's right, Sweet Cheeks," Dean chimed in with a smirk.

"Okay," I sighed. I knew they didn't really need my permission, but I wanted them to know that I was willing to do whatever it took to stop her. "What do we do till then?"

"Continue on like usual. Hunt things."

"Oh. Like what?" I asked curiously, wondering what else was out there.

"We'll hunt whatever nasty bastards we come across and _you_ will stay out of the way," Dean stated seriously, sidestepping my question.

"I might be able to help..." I pointed out. I may not be a hunter, but there had to be _something _I could do.

"No, you won't. You'll just get in the way. We can't do our jobs if we're distracted."

I knew Dean didn't really mean anything by it, but my chest clenched painfully at the reminder that I was just a _distraction_. Edward had said his kind were easily distracted. It was probably amazing that I had managed to keep his interest for so long.

_And he called humans fickle_, I thought wryly.

"He's right, Bella," Sam added apologetically.

"Yeah..." I exhaled a shaky breath, willing myself to remain calm. I needed to stop thinking about him. "I'm just gonna...use the bathroom."

After quietly locking myself in and setting the lid down, I took a seat on the toilet, letting my head fall into my hands.

_I can't keep doing this_, I thought, disgusted with myself.

I couldn't seem to get through five minutes of conversation before something set me off. There were so many words, phrases, and experiences I already had to avoid because they worked like triggers for my pain. I didn't have PTSD and in the grand scheme of things, what I went through wasn't the worst that could've happened. Even if Edward and his family no longer wanted me, at least they were alive somewhere, doing what makes them happy. I needed to _suck it up_ and stop feeling sorry for myself.

How could I expect the Winchesters to take me seriously if I couldn't even do that myself?

Hiding my emotions would be easier said than done, but I knew I needed to try for the sake of everyone I cared for.

I opened the door and slipped out of the bathroom, hoping the Winchesters didn't find anything odd about my quick moment alone. Dean had abandoned his spot on the bed and was now looking over Sam's shoulder at the laptop.

I debated what to do, before settling for taking my spot back on the cot. I was curious about whatever they were looking at, but I didn't want to cross any boundaries.

"How many victims?" Dean asked.

"Three in the last month," Sam answered.

My blood ran cold at their words. Were we too late? Had Victoria taken another in her quest to kill me? Did she spare the time to go even further and killed my loved ones too? Charlie, Renee, and Phil—three victims. I hadn't spoken to Renee in weeks and Victoria could've come for Charlie minutes after I left.

The brothers continued on, oblivious to my sudden worry.

"Does it say how?"

"No... It just says the kids went missing. No sign of a struggle, all of their stuff left untouched. Not a single witness. It's like they vanished into thin air."

Dean rubbed his face, watching Sam continue to scroll through whatever articles he had drawn up. The relief at knowing Charlie, Renee, and Phil were safe was bittersweet. I felt like I was going to be sick.

_No sign of a struggle._

That was probably because there wasn't one. Victoria would've had their necks snapped before they even had the time to scream. It seemed a bit odd though, imagining Victoria being so clean and careful. The last time I had saw her, she appeared almost wild and her former coven hadn't exactly been _clean_ when feeding in Forks.

"Do the kids have anything in common?"

"They were all boys. Different ages. It seems that's as far as the similarities go."

"Looks like we've got ourselves a man-hating monster," Dean announced, leaving Sam's side and grabbing his duffle bag.

"I don't know. Although they range from kindergarten to high school, none of them were adults. Looks like this thing—whatever it is—is only targeting kids," Sam argued.

"We sure this isn't your run-of-the-mill psychopath?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not really, but it can't hurt to check," Sam replied with a frown.

"Right," Dean agreed, pulling a couple guns out of his bag and a rag. "We're already here anyway. Besides, we need something to keep us busy while we wait for that redheaded bitch—"

"Could it be her?"

My voice was quiet, as I finally asked the question whose answer had my mouth filling with bile since I walked out of the bathroom. The urge to rush back in and lean over the toilet had grown while they discussed their new case.

"Who—Victoria?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," I nodded, worrying my bottom lip while I waited for an answer.

"Nah," Dean finally replied, his attention focused on cleaning one of his guns. "Like we said before, we've been tracking that redheaded bitch. She's been feeding in Seattle, not Spokane."

I nodded again, diverting my gaze as a wave of disgust for myself washed over me along with relief.

Dean retreated into the bathroom with his duffle bag and Sam put his laptop away before reaching for his.

"So... What are you guys going to do?" I asked curiously, watching Sam rifle through his bag.

"Question the families of the victims, see if we can find any clues," Sam replied.

"And...me?"

"You'll wait here."

I turned toward the bathroom, raising an eyebrow at the sight of Dean standing in the doorway, wearing a suit and tie. The debonair smile on his face as he adjusted his tie made my cheeks heat—an involuntary reaction I was hoping to avoid while on this little road trip. While I had noticed his attractiveness when we first met, I was annoyed to realize he looked just as good in formal attire. Different and a little off without his leather jacket, but still good.

Regardless, I knew there was no point in acknowledging things like that. They were only putting up with me for a chance to kill Victoria and as soon as she was taken care of, I would be left back in Forks to wallow.

Sam offered me a timid smile as he slipped by us and entered the bathroom with what I assumed would be a suit similar to Dean's.

"What about Victoria?" I finally asked, recovering from my moment of silence.

"What about her?" Dean's eyebrow rose.

"What if she comes for me while you two are gone?"

Dean waved his hand dismissively. I couldn't tell whether he was being cocky or stupid with his lack of concern.

"She has a point, Dean. Maybe she should come along..." Sam admitted reluctantly, his voice slightly muffled behind the closed door.

Sam reentered the room in much the same way Dean had, almost mimicking his brother's fussing perfectly as he straightened his tie. It was kind of cute, actually.

Dean looked over at Sam and some sort of silent conversation seemed to pass. I sighed to myself, wondering if I would always be surrounded by secrets. The Cullens used to do the same thing to me, always underestimating what I could handle.

"Fine. But the moment things go sour, she's going right back here," Dean relented. He turned his gaze on me. "If we tell you to do something—no matter what it is—you do it. Even if we say to run," he instructed seriously.

"Okay," I agreed eagerly, wanting to be anywhere but stuck in this hotel room, possibly waiting for my death. If I were being truly honest, I was also really curious about what else was out there besides vampires. After watching them take down Laurent so easily, I wanted to see how they handled other creatures.

...

"Remind me why we brought her along?" Dean asked, grimacing over his shoulder at me.

"Because there's a homicidal vampire after me,'' I interjected dryly, annoyed that he was trying to talk over me again.

Dean huffed and I tried to restrain myself from rolling my eyes as Sam ringed the doorbell. After a few moments, a middle-aged woman answered the door. Her light brown hair was rumpled and she wasn't wearing make-up, despite the fact that it was already well into the afternoon. By the robe she had half-hazardly pulled on over her clothes, I would guess she had been in bed all day.

"Good afternoon Mrs. Clancy, we're agents Angus and Young. We're here to ask you a few questions about your son."

Mrs. Clancy squinted at them, barely glancing at the badges they flashed. Her gaze flicked to me and I had to resist the urge to flinch at the look in her eyes—so empty and listless.

"This is our intern, Miss Sullivan," Dean explained, noticing.

Mrs. Clancy nodded absently as she mumbled, "Come in."

The brothers exchanged a glance as they followed her, leaving me to pull up the rear. I shut the door behind us quietly, unwilling to disturb the strange calm that had settled over this woman.

Mrs. Clancy led us into a kitchen that looked worse for wear and slumped into a seat at the table. The brothers did the same, but I opted to remain standing near the wall. There was something particularly unsettling about this woman. Besides, I figured it would be good to distance myself since I was supposedly here to observe.

"Mrs. Clancy, we know this must be a difficult time for you, but anything you can tell us about your son's disappearance could prove useful," Sam began sympathetically.

"I've already told everything I know to the police," Mrs. Clancy muttered, picking at her nails.

"Humor us," Dean insisted.

Mrs. Clancy sighed, everything about her ringing with defeat.

"I dropped Joseph off at school and went to work. I came home right after I got off. I thought he must've been at a friend's house, but when it got late and he still wasn't home, I got worried," she began tiredly.

"What time do you usually get off work?"

"Around two thirty."

"And when does Joseph usually come home?"

"Sometime between three thirty and four. Unless he's with his friends," Mrs. Clancy explained, adding the last part absently.

"Was he supposed to be with his friends that day, Mrs. Clancy?" Dean asked.

"No," she shook her head, sighing. "Not that I know of."

Mrs. Clancy moved her attention from her nails to a loose thread on her robe. I watched her pick at it, giving it more focus than she had the conversation thus far.

"Does Joseph have any enemies? Anyone who might want to hurt him?"

"Not that I know of," Mrs. Clancy repeated quietly, pulling on the thread a little harder.

I glanced around the room, pausing to stare at the dirty pots in the sink and the garbage piling up on the trash can. Mrs. Clancy's kitchen was a wreck, as if she hadn't bothered to clean in weeks. I didn't fault her that—I couldn't imagine having the energy to do meaningless chores when your son was missing. Still, I wondered if there was anyone helping her, if only to lend some comfort.

An overturned picture frame on the counter caught my eye and although I couldn't see what was on the other side, I had an idea.

"Where is Mr. Clancy?"

The brothers looked at me in surprise—I was only supposed to observe. I wasn't sure what had made me interrupt them. I just had a feeling that the answer to that question would be important.

When Mrs. Clancy's fussing suddenly stopped, I thought I might have been right.

"Joseph isn't here right now," she replied in a cold voice.

"You named your son after your husband?"

Despite the fact that Sam had asked the question, Mrs. Clancy continued to stare at me.

"Joseph was the spitting image of his father," Mrs. Clancy explained dismissively, but I could see an undercurrent of another emotion there.

"We would like to speak to Mr. Clancy as well. Do you know where he is or when he'll be back?" Sam asked calmly, noticing her failure to answer when I had asked.

Mrs. Clancy resumed picking at her clothes again, but she did answer this time.

"Catacombs—on South Monroe Street."

...

"There's something off about that woman," Dean proclaimed as he started the car.

"She did just lose her son," Sam reasoned.

"I agree with Dean. There _was_ something off about her."

They glanced back at me, but I didn't worry if I had overstepped my boundaries this time. There were lives at stake and if I could offer some insight—or just a different pair of eyes—I would. As it was, Dean's expression looked more triumphant than annoyed.

"See?" Dean smirked.

Sam rolled his eyes, probably thinking about how little Dean had thought of my opinion before now. We shared a small smile—knowing that we were both thinking along the same lines.

"Mr. Clancy sounds kind of shady," Sam offered.

"She didn't look very happy when I mentioned him," I noted.

"Well, let's pay him a visit then," Dean said, before adding in a spooky voice, "In the_ Catacombs_."

The Catacombs—as it turns out—was a pub that had been made from the old boiler room of a hotel. The brick interior had an almost hunting lodge feel to it. At least, that's what I gathered from the information posted on the door and quick glances through the window.

While I knew the brothers wouldn't have any trouble getting into the bar, I didn't think I would be so lucky.

"They aren't going to let me in," I pointed out as they made to enter the building.

Dean paused to survey my appearance, and I tried not to fidget as he slowly looked me up then down.

"Probably not...if you carry yourself like that."

"What do you mean?"

"You _look_ like you're just waiting to be caught. The thing you've gotta learn Sweet Cheeks, is that with the right amount of confidence, you can fool just about anyone."

I stared back at him, considering his advice. The fact that lying came so easily to him was a little unnerving, but like with Mrs. Clancy, I didn't think I could fault him for that, especially since it was something necessary for his line of work. Besides, I really wasn't one to judge—I had told my fair share of lies since moving to Forks.

I tried to stand up straighter, but I knew the effort was pointless. While the brothers were dressed in suits, I was wearing an ordinary pair of jeans and a sweater. I hadn't known I would need disguises, otherwise I might've actually packed some of the clothes Alice left me. The only way I would ever wear those would be for dress-up anyway.

My shoulders sagged at the reminder of my ex-best friend and I could hear Dean sigh as I deflated right before his eyes. Although I seemed able to think their names without completely breaking down, it still hurt to remember them. I didn't think I would ever get over them and that realization was even more painful.

"Come on," Dean said finally. "Can't hurt to try."

Dean walked in the door first, holding it open as I followed, and leaving Sam to bring up the rear. I offered him a small smile in thanks, earning a subtle quirk of his lips in return. I followed him as he approached the bar counter.

"What can I do for you boys?" the bartender smiled salaciously, not so subtly eying Dean.

It reminded me of the way everyone would look at Edward, except Dean didn't seem quite as put out by the attention.

"I'm Agent Young and this is my partner, Agent Angus. We're looking for a Mr. Clancy?" Dean replied with a smile.

I wasn't surprised to find myself excluded again.

"Over there, Sugar." The bartender nodded her head toward the end of the bar where a scruffy man sat, staring into his beer.

"Thanks."

"Can I get you anything to drink?" the bartender asked, her gaze trailing on Dean for a moment before sliding to Sam. When she noticed me, her smile slipped a little.

"How old are you, Sweetheart?" the bartender asked, analyzing my appearance.

"Twenty-one," I blurted.

Her eyebrow rose at my answer and I realized I had said the wrong thing.

"Got the I.D. to back that up?" she challenged.

"This is our intern, Miss Sullivan," Dean interjected, his smile a little forced now.

"Sorry Sugar, but she can't be in here," she addressed Dean apologetically, but I could tell it wasn't genuine.

Dean turned toward me, shrugging.

"Guess you'll have to wait outside."

I raised an eyebrow, looking at him in disbelief. While the proud part of me knew I didn't need their constant watch, were they really going to leave me out there alone?

"It's the middle of the afternoon, so you don't have to worry about Victoria," Sam pointed out quietly. "We'll be out of here before the sun goes down," he continued to assure.

Dean gestured at Sam, obviously feeling the same way. Knowing that there wasn't really any choice for me in the matter, I sighed in resignation.

"I guess I'll be outside," I conceded, lips pressed together—my best attempt at a smile that just wouldn't form.

...

**Rather than incorporating Bella into an existing episode, I've decided to create my own. There will be several original characters because I can't very well steal some from either world. Now I'll give you a little look at the timeline.**

**February 4th — Victim 1 Disappears**

**February 19th — Victim 2 Disappears**

**February 26th — Victim 3 Disappears**

**March 4th — The Meadow Scene with Laurent (according to the Twilight Lexicon)**

**According to Google Maps, it is 511 miles from Forks to Spokane. That's approximately a 9 hour drive, but Dean does tend to drive a bit fast. Since they left Forks in the morning, that puts them in Spokane in the afternoon, an hour or two before dark.**


	4. Poetic Justice: Part II

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><span>_"Poetic Justice"_

I never thought I would be here, standing outside of a pub in Spokane. It was strange to think that only yesterday, I was in Forks, trying to soothe a wounded heart and find my next hallucinogenic fix. I hadn't thought much about that, or my true intentions for being in the meadow.

Although I still had the urge to seek those blissful moments out, I knew I couldn't now. Before, when I was just killing time in a life of normalcy, I could rebel against _his_ wishes and be reckless. There was too much on the line now and though the idea of saving the ones I cared about from a possible future of death and pain by ending it myself was eerily appealing, I knew I couldn't.

So I leaned against the building, trying to keep my mind blank as I watched the people walk by. Some would offer me a small nod in passing, while others were far too self-involved to notice I was there. I sighed heavily as ten minutes turned into a half hour.

"Hello."

I started in surprise as I noticed a man standing there.

"Hello," I replied politely back.

The man was wearing a white collared shirt under a beige suit jacket and a black tie, with a pair of matching beige slacks. He was holding a briefcase in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

"Is that door locked?"

I followed his gaze to the bar behind me and shook my head.

"Nope. It's open if you want to go in," I moved further to the side, though I hadn't been blocking the door.

"Oh no, it's too early for a drink," the man smiled good-naturedly. "I was just curious why a pretty young lady such as yourself would be standing outside. Are you waiting for someone to open the door for you?" he asked curiously and with a small bit of humor, overshadowing his compliment with a question.

I focused on the latter, not entirely comfortable receiving an admiring statement from a middle-aged stranger in a new town.

"No, I'm just waiting for my friends."

"Ah, of course. Well, it was nice to meet you, Miss...?" he prompted, trailing off.

"Uh...Sullivan," I supplied, momentarily drawing a blank on the fake name Dean had given me.

The man tucked his newspaper under his other arm before offering me his hand. I slowly grasped it, wishing the brothers would finish up in there, despite this man's cordial manner.

"Terry Denasy," he grinned in return and I felt my small smile strain as he held my hand a bit longer than necessary, sweeping his thumb across my knuckles.

I heard the door open next to us, forcing Mr. Denasy to release my hand. He gave me a nod in farewell, before continuing down the street.

"What was that about?" Dean asked, watching the man turn the corner.

"I don't know," I replied honestly. "He said his name was Terry Denasy," I added.

"Derek Denasy was the second missing child. That must've been his father," Sam informed us.

"We leave you alone for five minutes, and you've already made friends with a possible killer?" Dean asked incredulously.

"First, it wasn't five minutes—it was almost an hour. Second, I didn't _make friends_ with him. He just saw me standing here and started talking."

The fact that I had barely known Dean for a day and he was already calling me a danger magnet, made it difficult to hide my annoyance.

"Whoa there. Take a chill pill, Sweet Cheeks. We said we'd be out before sundown and look," Dean pointed above us, "Sun's still up."

"I know," I sighed. "That man was just...kind of creepy."

I averted my gaze to my shoes, noting how the laces were a little loose. I would need to retie them soon.

"Hey, if it makes you feel any better, we didn't have much luck with Mr. Clancy," Sam offered.

"Sammy's right," Dean chimed in. "That man has less people skills than his wife."

"Is that possible?" I blurted, but instantly felt bad when I remembered why she was probably like that—she had just lost her son.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Dean replied with a roll of his eyes.

My lips quirked in return, despite my guilt.

...

"Ah, Miss Sullivan. How nice to see you again," Mr. Denasy smiled, happily.

I shifted awkwardly, uneasy over his exuberant welcome. One of the brothers cleared their throat and I was glad to see the man's attention shift to them.

"Mr. Denasy, we're agents Angus and Young, and this is our intern, Miss Sullivan."

"Yes, we've met," he cut in, looking at me with the same smile firmly in place.

"We'd like to talk to you about your son," Sam continued, gaining his attention once more.

"Oh, of course. Come on in. My wife is just getting started on dinner."

Mr. Denasy stepped aside, allowing us to file in passed him. The doorway was a little narrow with his body leaning against the door, but I managed to get by without brushing against him. He shut the door behind us and I tensed as I felt his hand at the small of my back.

"Right this way," he smiled easily, apparently seeing no problem with invading my personal space.

The brothers walked ahead of us and although I tried to move quicker to avoid his hand, Mr. Denasy managed to keep up with my pace. I was grateful when we made it to the kitchen and Mr. Denasy left my side to stand beside his wife.

"Sarah, these are agents Angus and Young, and their intern, Miss Sullivan. They want to talk to us about Derek," he informed her gently.

A woman with shoulder-length blonde curls turned away from the stove to offer us a small smile in greeting.

"Nice to meet you. Let me just finish this up and I'll meet you in the living room," she smiled apologetically, sweeping one of her curls off her forehead.

We moved to the living room and I was thankful that Dean's presence beside me kept Mr. Denasy away. Sam and Dean each took a seat on the couch, leaving me to occupy the middle. Although we were a bit close, I preferred it to standing near either of our hosts.

I looked around the room, unnerved by how orderly everything was. For the home of a five year-old, the place was remarkably clean. Even Renee had a few horror stories about my messes as a child, despite the way she described me as 'responsible to a fault' later.

"You have a lovely home, Mrs. Denasy."

"Call me Sarah," she smiled at me, clearly pleased at the compliment. "I do try to keep a steady household. Of course, with a pair of messy boys in the house—" she paused, and I watched her lips turn down. "Oh, it just hasn't been the same without our little Derek," she finished, sadly.

"Do either of you have any enemies, anyone you could think of that might have hurt your son?" Dean asked.

"Oh, heavens no! Our Derek was the sweetest thing. Terry and I are active members of the community, you know," she informed proudly. "He teaches at the local college and just yesterday, I brought the Manallos a casserole. You wouldn't believe how poorly they've been taking care of themselves since Elias disappeared," she sighed, shaking her head.

I could feel my eyebrows shooting into my hairline. Was this woman serious?

"Elias—he went missing a week before your son, didn't he?"

"Yes," Mr. Denasy confirmed. "It's such a tragic thing. I can't imagine who would want to hurt our children."

The brothers exchanged a glance before Dean spoke.

"That's what we're trying to figure out."

"How well do you know the Clancy's?" Sam asked.

"Joseph and Charlotte?" Mrs. Denasy seemed caught off guard by the question. "Not well at all."

"Their son went missing a few weeks before the Manallo's."

"I thought Joseph ran away? Do you think there's a connection between him and our son?" Mrs. Denasy asked, pressing a hand to her chest in surprise.

"Joseph Clancy was reported as missing. Why would you think he ran away?"

"Oh, you know...with a troubled teen like that, it was only a matter of time," she backtracked.

"What kind of trouble did Joseph get into?" Dean asked.

"He was caught a couple months ago—stealing alcohol from a local store," Mr. Denasy explained, his tone riddled with disappointment. "From what I've heard, he had quite a bit to drink beforehand too."

"No doubt he got that from his father." Mrs. Denasy added, "That man spends more time in a bar than his own home. And poor Charlotte! After what happened to her sister..."

"What happened to her sister?"

"She got into a car accident a month ago. It was a hit and run—the scoundrel left the poor girl in a coma. Charlotte was real broken up about it," Mrs. Denasy sighed.

The sound of a timer going off made her instantly perk up.

"Oh! The pie's done! Excuse me for a moment," she smiled apologetically at us before rushing into the kitchen.

"You'll have to excuse my wife," Mr. Denasy told us, glancing in the direction of the kitchen. "She's been cooking and cleaning almost obsessively since Derek disappeared. I think she blames herself and I guess this is her way of coping," he explained quietly.

"We understand. It's hard losing someone you care about," Sam offered, but I sensed something more than sympathy in his voice—empathy.

Sam—and possibly Dean too—had lost someone dear to him.

Dean cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken.

"If you don't mind us asking, where were the two of you when Derek went missing?"

"No, I don't mind," Mr. Denasy assured. "I was in my office on campus grading papers. My wife was supposed to pick our son up from school, but her car has been acting up lately, and it wouldn't start. By the time she got to the school, Derek was gone," he sighed, looking down at his hands.

"What about the school? Did they see Derek leave?"

"We asked that too," Mr. Denasy replied. "They didn't see anything. They don't exactly watch the children get picked up. Though, in light of everything that has happened, I really think they should," he continued, his voice hardening in his first show of anger since we had arrived.

Mrs. Denasy returned then, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"Would any of you care for some pie?" she asked, smiling widely.

Dean's eyes lit up and he opened his mouth, looking for all the world like _pie_ was the answer to everything his heart desired. Noticing Mr. Denasy's encouraging smile aimed in my direction, I was grateful when Sam spoke first.

"Thank you, but we should really be going," Sam declined politely.

Mrs. Denasy's smile didn't even falter, but I noticed the happiness in her eyes recede. It was remarkable how creepy that was—her ability to school her emotions like that. While I had been striving for control over mine, I hoped I wouldn't end up looking like _that_.

"Well, that's a shame," she stated mildly. "Either way, it was nice meeting all of you." With that, she turned around, retreating back into the kitchen without another glance.

Unfortunately for me, Mr. Denasy wasn't quite as easy to lose. Rather than allow us to show ourselves out, he opted to escort us. With Sam in front, Dean was beside me again, but I felt unnerved by Mr. Denasy's presence behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and my discomfort increased when his gaze immediately met mine. I quickly turned back around and resisted the urge to keep looking back.

"I'm sorry you couldn't stay longer. My wife's pie is quite good," Mr. Denasy spoke as we crossed the threshold. "She's won many blue ribbons," he added with a proud smile.

"I'm sure it is," Dean placated, though I thought I detected a tone of disappointment.

"Perhaps some other time," Mr. Denasy offered. "Agents, Miss Sullivan," he nodded at us, his gaze lingering a bit on me before he shut the door.

The brothers and I headed over to the car quietly, a silent understanding that we should wait until we were out of earshot before speaking.

"That was...interesting," Sam stated, breaking the silence.

"I'm not sure which one was worse..." I offered honestly, freaked out by Mrs. Denasy's scarily cheery disposition, but also unnerved by her husband.

"We should've stayed for pie," Dean sighed regretfully, as he pulled onto the road.

"Is that really all you can think about?" Sam asked incredulously.

"What? I haven't eaten all day," Dean pointed out defensively.

"We stopped at that diner in Morton, remember?"

"Yeah, _hours _ago." Dean rolled his eyes. "How are you guys not starving?"

"I don't know... Seeing a vampire get roasted alive doesn't really lend a healthy appetite," I replied, dryly.

"Well, we're going to find something. It's too late to talk to the Manallos tonight anyway," Dean decided, pulling into the parking lot of a diner—much like the one we stopped at earlier.

I felt a flicker of homesickness, remembering how much time I used to spend in the kitchen cooking, as I realized the brothers probably lived off diner food and in turn—so would I.

_Maybe I could talk them into getting a motel room with a kitchen next time_, I thought hopefully.

...

"They know something."

"Dude, chew with your mouth closed," Sam complained.

Dean rolled his eyes, but complied, swallowing heavily before making a show of dabbing at his lips prissily.

"Happy now?"

"Yeah, now that there isn't food flying from your mouth, I'm ecstatic."

I tried not to snicker as I picked at my own food. I had chosen chicken—one of the things I figured that might actually be good in a place like this. Apart from the sporadic piece of gristle, it was pretty decent. As long as I picked around the bad parts, I was able to swallow it down. The fries weren't quite as disappointing, covered in this wonderful seasoning I was convinced must be laced with drugs to be so good.

Watching Sam and Dean pick at each other was very entertaining—it was almost like having dinner and a show. Growing up as an only child meant I hadn't gone through any sibling rivalries, yet seeing the brothers' easy teasing almost made me jealous.

"What about Bella? She's playing with her food. At least I'm eating mine," Dean argued.

I looked up in surprise at being mentioned.

"I'm eating," I murmured indignantly. "Just because I didn't devour half my meal in five seconds, doesn't mean I'm not."

Sam chuckled next to me, while Dean smiled sarcastically, mumbling under his breath. I thought I heard something like 'ganging up on me' but he spoke before I could ask, changing the subject back to the case.

"So we've got the zombie and the Stepford wife—both of which seem to know more than they're saying."

I pushed memories of the early days after Edward left away, unwilling to allow Dean's mention of a 'zombie' bring thoughts of my emotionless state to the forefront of my mind.

"What about the husbands?" I asked, more as a distraction from my own thoughts than anything. "What did you find out from Mr. Clancy?"

I realized neither of them had actually said anything about him, except that he didn't have the warmest personality. I hadn't pestered them about it, too distracted by my own weird interaction with Mr. Denasy.

"He wouldn't talk about it—he wouldn't talk at all, really," Sam said with a frown. "The only response we got out of him was when we mentioned his wife."

"He's avoiding her," Dean continued where Sam left off. "I talked to Melanie and she said he's been coming in there almost every morning since his son disappeared. She has to practically force the guy to leave at closing."

"Melanie?" the question slipped out, although I was pretty sure I knew who he was talking about.

"The bartender."

"Oh," I replied quietly, not sure why it really mattered to me.

"The Denasys don't seem to have the same problem," Sam noted.

"She smiled an awful lot," I added.

"Some people grieve differently," Sam defended, but even he didn't look like he believed that was it.

"There has to be a connection between them. Three kids don't just disappear," Dean reasoned, finishing the last of his fries.

"Do you think the wives are working together?" Sam asked.

"I don't know... Did the police reports say anything about searching the victims' own houses?" Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam.

"Probably not as thoroughly as we're going to," Sam sighed, easily catching on.

"You're not going to _ask_ to search their houses, are you?" I realized.

"Nope," Dean replied simply.

I sighed, wondering how many laws I would end up breaking while travelling with Sam and Dean.

...

I stood off to the side, glancing around nervously as Sam picked the lock. I couldn't stop thinking that a cop would drive by at any moment and catch us. Imagining Charlie's reaction when my mug shot reached him—which it undoubtedly would, if he had put out an APB for me—only made it worse.

"Geez Sammy, took you long enough," Dean groused as the door finally swung open.

"You do it next time then," Sam glared.

I followed Dean as he led the way into the house, hearing the door's quiet click as Sam joined us. I wasn't sure what they were looking for, but I kept my eyes peeled, regardless. Dean pulled a device out of his pocket and I watched curiously as he began slowly waving it around the room.

"What is that?" I whispered.

"EMF meter. Tells us if there's been any recent paranormal activity," Dean explained absently.

The garbled noise it made was a little loud and I worried that it would alert Mrs. Clancy to our presence.

"Is it supposed to sound like that?" I asked nervously, wondering what kind of creature it might pick up, but also worried that it might be broken.

Dean hummed in response, preoccupied with his search. The brothers moved in different directions, so I opted to look in the kitchen.

I surveyed the room, once again noting the cluttered counters and dirty dishes. My hands clenched, almost itching to clean up the place a bit. My gaze fell on the overturned frame again and I picked it up curiously.

It was just as I suspected—a picture of Mrs. Clancy and her husband, locked in a loving embrace. She looked so different from the woman I had met today—happy and so full of life. I frowned, recalling just how devastated Mrs. Clancy had looked earlier and wondered if her grief was only related to her son's disappearance.

I shook the thought away, realizing I was probably reaching. Of course it was all about her son—any mother would probably feel the same way. Well, excluding Mrs. Denasy, of course. I shuddered at the thought of that couple, not looking forward to entering their home again.

Something shifted in the corner of my eye and I whipped around, worried that I had been discovered. Nothing seemed to be different and for a moment, I wondered if I had somehow triggered another hallucination of Edward.

Although I had actively sought those moments of peace out days ago, the idea of engaging in one during my present situation, scared me. With Victoria plotting her revenge and the cause of these disappearances on the loose, I needed to remain sharp. I couldn't let myself lose touch with reality.

"Find anything?"

I jumped, covering my mouth to stifle any sound. I turned around to find Dean standing there, not so subtly smirking at the fact that he had scared me.

"Don't do that!" I whispered furiously, my heart thumping wildly.

Dean continued to smirk, obviously not repentant at all.

"We're leaving," he explained, gesturing behind him. "Come on."

I nodded, following Dean out the door without protest. I wondered how long I had been standing there thinking of Edward if they were already done searching. I figured that they must've known what to look for and therefore hadn't needed to spend quite as much time poking around.

Regardless of the reason, I was glad we hadn't stayed in there too long. Although Mr. Clancy was out—most likely at that bar—and Mrs. Clancy was asleep in her room, I kept thinking they would catch us at any moment.

We met up with Sam at the front door and quietly slipped out. The car was parked down the street, in case anyone came by and noticed it parked outside the Clancy's house. Our steps were casual but quick, and we were driving back to the hotel in no time.

"Find anything?" Dean repeated the question he had surprised me with earlier.

"Not much. I found some medical bills for a Kelly Tanner—"

"The sister?" Dean interrupted.

"Who else?" Sam countered. "Other than that...nothing. Not a single missing poster."

"Because she's given up hope?" I asked, remembering how broken she looked.

"Or because she isn't looking," Dean said.

I chewed my lip as Dean vocalized the direction my own thoughts had been taking. If he had gotten the same feeling, then maybe I wasn't seeing things that weren't there.

"She had that framed photo of her and her husband turned down," I began, ready to voice one of my theories. "I think something happened between them."

"Neither of them really showed much emotion until the other was mentioned—not even when we asked about their son," Sam added and I thought he might've been agreeing with me. "Did the EMF pick up anything?"

"Yeah," Dean confirmed. "But if a spirit was behind this, where's the body?"

"They aren't known for being neat," Sam agreed.

"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "A spirit—you mean a _ghost_ was behind this?" I asked incredulously.

Dean shrugged. "Seems like it. But they don't kill without reason and they definitely don't hide the bodies."

"Right. And if it was a spirit, what's keeping the parents safe?"

"Might be why the husband spends so much time away from home?" Dean suggested.

I frowned, not really believing that to be the reason. While I hadn't encountered ghosts before, it seemed like their separation was more personal than that.

Sam shrugged in response, obviously as lost as we were. Something seemed to be missing—some vital piece of information—and until we figured it out, we wouldn't be able to solve this mystery.

_Mystery, _I rolled my eyes at myself, _feels like I'm a member of the Scooby-Doo gang_.

...

**There is somewhat of a teaser for the next chapter in the form of a cartoon in my deviant art gallery. Just click the link near the top of my profile to reach it. The deviation is titled, "Nightmares."**

**There are also several other deviations, featuring Bella with Dean, Castiel, and Sam.**


	5. Poetic Justice: Part III

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><span>_"Poetic Justice"_

I shuffled out of the bathroom in my pajamas, pausing to toss my bag next to the cot. We hadn't really found any answers, but the brothers agreed that it was too late to keep looking. We needed more information and since we couldn't visit the Manallos until morning, they decided to head back to the motel room for some sleep. It didn't really matter to me, though I was a little apprehensive about sleeping in the same room with them tonight.

Although I had barely known them a day, I didn't think they would do anything. My worries stemmed from the realization that if I had a nightmare, they would be here to listen to me scream. Even worse, they would be privy to what they were about if I started to sleep talk.

I sighed in defeat, pulling the bedding back to slide under the covers. I knew I was going to have to sleep sometime, so there was no point in putting off the inevitable.

Sam was still doing research on his laptop, eyes focused intently on the screen, even if I heard the sporadic yawn slip out. Dean on the other hand, had his nose buried in an old journal, flipping page after page, seemingly searching for something.

Both of them had declined my offer to help, claiming that it had been a long day and I should really get some sleep. I didn't want to admit that I was unusually weary, likely having something to do with my run-in with Laurent early this morning. It seemed like ages since I had slept, though it hadn't actually been longer than usual.

Dean had been almost protective of the journal he was leafing through, tucking it away whenever I got too close. He didn't seem like the journal-keeping type, so I figured it must have belonged to someone really important to him. I wondered if the owner was also the person they had lost.

I stared up at the ceiling, not even bothering to try to sleep. I knew I wouldn't be able to anyway—not with the light on and the brothers moving about. Though they were actually being pretty quiet, I couldn't get passed my awareness that they were still awake.

With nothing to occupy my mind with—I missed the days when I could bury myself in a good book until my eyes slid shut of their own accord—I was left to dwell on unpleasant things, like Charlie. I hoped he was doing alright and not worrying himself too much over my disappearance.

The note I left him was kind of a low blow, but not in the way it was the last time I left so abruptly. Last time, I had needed to lie to his face and out of desperation, I spewed all of those lies about needing to leave him and return to Renee's. Despite the many months of peace that followed, I knew Charlie still felt poorly about what I had said.

This time was different. Instead of using Charlie's insecurities as a father against him, I had hurt myself by giving him a lie that he would probably believe immediately.

I used Edward—this time his name did make me flinch—telling Charlie that I couldn't bear to live without him anymore and planned to seek him out in Los Angeles. I knew this wouldn't stop Charlie from looking, but at least his attention would be directed toward California and not in other parts of Washington, where I would actually be.

Charlie wouldn't find any of us there and even if he did try to get in contact with the Cullens, I didn't think he would be successful. The Cullens were good at covering their tracks. They had disconnected their phone lines—something I had figured out when in one of my weaker moments, I had tried to call them.

While it had hurt a great deal to realize none of them wanted anything to do with me at the time, I only felt worse now, knowing that they had severed all ties without even considering the consequences, should Victoria decide to come for me.

If I was truly being honest with myself, I was more angry than hurt because they had left me entirely defenseless. Without Sam and Dean, I would be dead right now.

"Thank you," I said suddenly, disrupting the silence in the room.

I felt their attention shift to me, but I kept my gaze directed at the ceiling.

"For saving me from Laurent," I continued. "I'd probably be dead right now if you hadn't."

A heavy silence followed and I wondered how often they were thanked. The idea that they drove around, risking their lives without anyone but themselves to acknowledge their actions, made me a little sad. I wasn't expecting a response. I just wanted them to know that I really appreciated what they did.

I turned on my side facing the wall, ready to actually try to sleep, if only to avoid conscious thought. Two gruff replies that might've been 'you're welcome' were the last sounds I heard before I finally fell asleep.

...

I staggered through the forest, calling out his name desperately. I refused to believe he would just leave me.

_Unprotected_.

I swung around at the sound of the voice, searching among the trees for its source. There was nothing but that despondent shade of green, plain and relentless. A sudden flash of flames in the corner of my eye made me turn again, but once again, there was nothing.

"Edward?" I called out, pushing my way through the trees.

The branches slid across my skin, almost grabbing at me. I kept moving, wincing as they began to pierce my flesh, leaving distinct cuts. My leg snagged on something in a nearby bush and I yanked roughly, trying to free myself.

It wouldn't budge, almost as if it was surrounded by concrete. A flash of fire caught my eye again, this time coming from within the brush. I slowly pushed back the leaves, feeling nothing as my fingers were engulfed in the flames.

The bush began to shift and suddenly, I realized that it wasn't fire I was touching.

It was _hair_.

"Hello, Bella," she smiled wickedly, her easy grip on my ankle turning into a claw.

I screamed as her nails pressed into my skin.

...

"_Shit_."

I sat up suddenly, breathing deeply as I finally emerged from my nightmare.

"You okay?"

I jerked away from the voice, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear my vision. Dean was huddled over me, a weird look on his face. The realization that I must have woke him with my nightmare, made my eyes clench shut in embarrassment.

"I'm fine," I gasped, slowly regaining my breath and opening my eyes.

Dean frowned, but didn't comment. His gaze flickered over to Sam who despite having slept through the noise, appeared just as restless as Dean looked. We watched him toss and turn for a moment, a light sheen of sweat shining on his forehead in the moonlight.

"Jesus. Between the two of you, no one's ever going to get any sleep," Dean murmured gruffly.

I pushed the hair off my face, grimacing at the tangles I must have created while thrashing in my sleep.

"Sorry."

Dean raised an eyebrow at me.

"For waking you," I elaborated quietly.

Dean grunted noncommittally, moving back to his bed. With his back turned, I was able to take in his appearance in the dim light, and I blushed at the realization that he was wearing boxers with the shirt he had on earlier.

I shifted my gaze when he sat down, glancing at him out of the corner of my eyes. I was glad for the darkness, knowing he wouldn't be able to see my heated cheeks.

"So...Sam has nightmares?" I asked.

Sam groaned then, the pained noise sounding almost like a name. Dean stared at him silently for a moment before leaning back against the headboard and turning his gaze to the ceiling, much like I had earlier.

"Go back to sleep," he ordered quietly, dismissing my question.

I watched him for a moment, but his attention on the smooth tile didn't falter and I eventually mirrored his position. I didn't want to go back to sleep, knowing that I would only dream up new ways for Edward to leave or Victoria to hurt me. Either way, my dreams would be torturous.

...

I stared into my cup of coffee, blinking at the pull of the bags under my eyes. Apart from a few naps, I hadn't gotten any sleep after that nightmare. I was exhausted, but I supposed that wasn't new. I had been having nightmares for months, only now that I knew her intentions, they would feature Victoria as well.

"According to the local newspapers, there haven't been any deaths in the house—violent or otherwise," Sam informed us.

"What about the others?"

"Nope."

"Does it make a difference? If the death was violent?" I asked.

"The more violent the death, the stronger the spirit," Dean explained. "How the hell are we supposed to torch this sucker if we don't know who it is?"

"We still have the Manallos. Maybe we'll find something there?" Sam reminded him.

...

We stood on the Manallos' porch, staring at the closed door in shock. Unlike the Denasys or even the Clancys, Mr. and Mrs. Manallo hadn't been quite as receptive to us. In fact, the moment we introduced ourselves, Mrs. Manallo started sobbing about her son. Seeing his wife's distress, Mr. Manallo threatened to grab his shotgun if we didn't get off his property.

"Um...maybe we should go?" I suggested, not sure if I had imagined the cocking of a gun behind the closed door.

The three of us rushed back to Dean's car, repeatedly glancing back at the house until we had climbed in and drove away.

"Looks like we're going to have two houses to search tonight," Sam sighed.

"Well, we can't just wait around all day," Dean groused, annoyed at another dead end.

"What about the sister?" I asked suddenly, remembering our conversation with Mrs. Denasy.

"She's in a coma," Dean pointed out, obviously annoyed. "I don't think she's going to answer any of our questions.

"Maybe not," I conceded. "But didn't Mrs. Denasy say she was admitted about a month ago?"

"And the first disappearance happened a week after that—her nephew," Sam said.

"Hospital, here we come."

...

"I don't see what Kelly Tanner has to do with the missing children..."

"We're nothing if not thorough," Dean remarked with a smirk.

"Well, Dr. Fields," Sam interjected before he could reply, "any information you can give us could prove useful."

Dr. Fields nodded in resignation, beckoning us to follow. I remained behind them, trying not to snicker as Sam berated Dean.

"Do you think you could cut down on the innuendo?" Sam asked, eyebrow raised.

"Only if you think you could pull that stick out of your ass," Dean grinned.

I snorted, blushing when the sound prompted Sam and Dean to look back at me. Luckily Dr. Fields was too far ahead to notice.

"Sorry," I shrugged, still trying not to smile.

"Well, this is her room," Dr. Fields announced, drawing our attention.

Lying in a hospital bed was a woman who couldn't have been more than a year or two older than me, meaning that Mrs. Clancy would've had to have been in her teens when Kelly was born. Her hair was lighter than her sister's, but there was definitely a resemblance there.

Kelly looked almost peaceful with her eyes closed and hair fanned out across her pillow. Even with her injuries, her body radiated calm, but there was something unnatural about it—a subtle feeling I couldn't put my finger on. She looked _too_ peaceful.

"What happened to her?" Sam asked in his soft voice.

"It was a hit and run," Dr. Fields replied, confirming what Mrs. Denasy had said. "It's a miracle she survived. If Joseph and his son hadn't found her..." he trailed off, sighing.

"Joseph Clancy?" Dean verified as he moved closer to the bed.

"Yes. They were the ones to call the ambulance. Kelly was unconscious at the scene. She's been in a coma ever since."

"Will she wake up?" I asked quietly, memories of my own hospital visits making my voice soft too.

"It doesn't look good," Dr. Fields answered honestly. "I tried talking to her sister Charlotte about...alternative options, but she won't listen. Now that she's lost Joseph, I don't think she'll ever be able to accept the severity of Kelly's state," he finished sadly.

Sam thanked Dr. Fields for his time, but I wasn't paying much attention, too focused on the lack of decoration in Kelly's room. There weren't any flowers, cards, or balloons—the only thing that looked like it had been brought in was a worn book sitting beside her bed. I couldn't read the cover, but the design looked familiar—a faded orange color with people on it. I moved toward it, curious.

A throat cleared behind me, breaking me from my thoughts.

"Miss Sullivan?" Dean called, jerking his head at the door behind him where Sam and Dr. Fields were waiting.

"Sorry," I apologized, glancing back longingly at the book as I followed after him.

...

I sighed, flopping onto Dean's bed. After our trip to the hospital, the brothers had decided another talk with Mr. Clancy was in order. The man knew something and after learning that he had been the one to find Kelly, they were convinced he was the key to whatever had started the disappearances.

Since Mr. Clancy spent most of his time in that bar, they thought it prudent to drop me off beforehand. While I didn't relish the idea of waiting outside—mostly in case Mr. Denasy walked by again—I didn't like being cooped up in this motel room.

I turned on the television and flipped through the few available channels, desperate for something to distract me from my own thoughts. I didn't want to think about home, about what I had left behind or who had left _me_ behind all those months ago.

I settled on a channel playing old cartoons, hoping the bright colors and simple storylines would be a relief from my own convoluted life. The clock on the wall wasn't ticking, so I relied on the ending and beginning of different cartoon episodes to mark the passage of time.

My gaze flickered to the door more often than I would like to admit, anticipating Sam and Dean's return. I wanted to know what they had found, but I also missed their presence. They kept my mind occupied with their discussion of theories and constant sarcasm.

Realizing I could no longer rely on the television to keep my attention, I decided to take a shower. The mundane task was both refreshing and enough to stop my thoughts from straying to the past. I wrapped one of the scratchy motel towels around me, trying not to think about how clean it actually was.

I glanced around the bathroom, rolling my eyes at myself when I realized I had forgotten my bag. Now hoping that the brothers hadn't returned quite yet, I peeked out the bathroom door, and sighed in relief when I confirmed that they were still gone.

I walked out of the bathroom, glancing curiously at the blank television—I must've turned it off before getting in the shower—as I grabbed my bag and moved it onto the cot. I rifled through it, searching for a new pair of clothes to wear. Something moved in the corner of my eye and I turned my head, quickly surveying the room.

Like last night in the Clancys' house, there was nothing there. Gripping my towel tighter around my body, I took a deep breath, determined not to let myself get lost in another hallucination, if that was in fact what was happening.

I furrowed my brows, concentrating on going through my bag. Still, the distinct feeling of being watched made my skin prickle. Memories of the nights before I knew what Edward was filtered back and how even then, I had noticed the feeling, despite not knowing that he could be watching.

Reconciling the experiences made me worry, so when the feeling increased, I slowly turned around, gasping when I met the eyes of a boy standing across the room.

The boy looked younger than me, but probably only by a few years. His dark hair was similar to Sam's, though a little shorter and covering more of his eyes. His clothes matched his dark demeanor, appearing ruffled as if in a struggle.

"Who are you?" I asked.

My first thought was _vampire_, but his eyes weren't red or gold, so I quickly dispelled that theory. His dark gaze showed recognition and I had this weird feeling that I had seen him before. When he smirked instead of answering my question, I gripped my towel tighter. I didn't know how he had gotten in here, but since the motel door was still locked—which I confirmed with a quick glance—I didn't think he had used conventional methods to get in.

"Say my name."

My eyebrows rose at the authority in his voice, along with the odd request.

"W-What?" I asked intelligently.

When he didn't do anything but continue to smirk, I began to inch my way to the door. Suddenly he was in front of me, seeming almost to flicker in and out of reality as he looked down at me. My heart beat wildly in both fear and surprise.

He grabbed my arms and pushed me into the wall with more force than he should be capable, knocking the breath from my lungs. I gasped in shock, barely managing to keep my towel up and shivering at the icy temperature of his skin.

The boy's skin was somehow colder than a vampire's, something I had once considered to be an impossible feat.

"_Say my name, Bitch_."

He continued to smirk, but there was no humor there and with our faces so close together, I could see his eyes a lot clearer. They didn't belong to a thirsty vampire, but were just as dark and filled with the kind of malice I had seen before in the ballet studio with James.

"Or I won't let you enjoy it too."

My eyes widened as his hand moved to my thigh, easily reaching my skin due to the shortness of the towel. I shuddered at the feeling of his hand creeping higher, too shocked for a moment to attempt to do anything.

His hand was sliding even higher and I grasped my towel tightly in one hand, lashing out with the other in a moment of panic.

Despite his steady grip on me, my hand moved right through him, his form dissipating like smoke before righting itself a moment later. My eyes widened at the realization that I had no way of stopping him. How could I when I couldn't even _touch_ him?

The boy didn't stop smirking, but he was glaring now, obviously unhappy with my attempt at hurting him.

"Daddy's not here to _save_ you," he hissed in my face, his wandering hand pressing harder into my thigh.

I shrieked when his nails pierced my skin, practically clawing at the flesh now. I whimpered in fear and pain as his hand inched ever closer, almost to its intended destination. A tear slid down my cheek—I was entirely helpless.

My gaze shot to the door as it suddenly caved in, revealing Dean holding a shotgun. Dean's eyes met mine for a brief second before he refocused on the boy and fired. The boy dissipated into smoke again, but surprisingly, he didn't reappear this time.

"You okay?" Dean asked, just like he had after I woke from my nightmare.

I remained in place against the wall, too stunned to move. I couldn't believe how close that was and that if Dean had come only a minute later... I shuddered at the thought and looked down in embarrassment, remembering I was still in a towel.

"Yeah," I mumbled, clenching my towel tighter around me.

I couldn't look him in the eye, not after what he had almost witnessed when he barged in. This time I grabbed my entire bag, not comfortable with being in the room with Sam—who was now closing the door—and Dean while feeling so exposed.

I entered the bathroom, quickly shutting and locking the door behind me. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, noticing my limp wet hair and wide eyes. The reality of what had just happened really registered and I leaned against the door, sliding to the floor.

I had almost been violated by a ghost. A _ghost_.

I exhaled a shaky breath, having the strange urge to laugh. There was nothing funny about what had happened, but I found myself resisting the chuckles building up within me. My chest felt too tight and my eyes were beginning to water, but I couldn't stop a snort from escaping.

Once it started I couldn't seem to make it stop, so I sat there, trying to laugh as silently as possible. I knew the brothers were probably waiting out there to talk to me and I didn't know what they would think if they heard me chortling in here.

I took a deep breath, trying to expel the strange fit of giggles while standing back up to get dressed. I grabbed the first set of clothes I touched, less caring about what I wore now with so much else on my mind.

After dropping my towel, I held in a gasp, staring at the new bruises that had formed on my skin. There were twin hand prints on either of my arms, but that wasn't what drew my attention. I was more focused on the harsh print on my thigh and the tiny holes illustrating the point of where each of his fingers had been.

I touched part of it lightly and flinched violently at the pain it elicited. I pulled on a pair of jeans more carefully than usual, wincing when I had to pull them over the mark. My thigh continued throbbing even after I finished dressing and I took a deep breath, hoping to get a handle on the pain.

When I left the bathroom, Sam and Dean were sitting on opposite beds, talking quietly to each other. The sound of the door opening drew their attention, putting an end to their conversation. Dean's gaze slid across my body, obviously assessing any damage.

I took a seat on the cot and waited for one of them to begin speaking.

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"I got out of the shower and when I was looking through my bag for something to wear, he just...appeared."

"Did he...hurt you?" Dean asked uncomfortably, the purpose of his question not lost on me.

He had walked in on the ghost's hand moving under my towel, so it was only logical that he would assume...that.

"I'm fine," I answered simply, but realizing that probably wouldn't assuage his fears, I elaborated. "Just a couple bruises, but I'll heal."

Dean looked ready to press me for more information, but I spoke again before he could,

"_I'm fine_," I repeated, giving him a meaningful look.

His shoulders seemed to slump in relief and he gave me a sharp nod in understanding. Sam sat there, watching the exchange silently.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Sam asked gently, recognizing that this was probably a delicate conversation, even if I didn't think he had actually witnessed what was happening before they interfered. "Did he say anything?"

"He kept telling me to say his name," I replied, ignoring his first question.

"His name?" Sam asked in bewilderment. I nodded in confirmation. "Did he say anything else?"

"Yeah, he said..." I paused, grimacing as I repeated the rest of his words, "'_Or else I won't let you enjoy it too_'."

Sam's eyebrow rose in surprise, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he realized what had been going down. Dean didn't share his brother's shock, but his distaste was more pronounced. I shifted uneasily, feeling the sudden urge to take another shower.

"Anything else?" Dean asked gruffly.

"He also told me my dad wasn't going to save me?" I answered in confusion, my response ending with a questioning lilt.

"His exact words...?" Sam prompted.

"'_Daddy's not here to save you_.'"

"Daddy's not here to save you?" Dean repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah."

"Well, that's creepy," Dean replied, standing up and walking toward the door.

I watched him bend over and pick up a black plastic bag I hadn't noticed, something I figured one of them must have been carrying before fending off the ghost's attack. He walked back over to the bed and dumped out the contents on the bedspread, grabbing a glass bottle of coke. After popping off the top, he handed it to me.

"Thank you," I replied, grateful for the drink.

My throat seemed to ache, despite my lack of screaming during the attack.

"So...that was a ghost?" I asked, needing to confirm what I already suspected.

"Not just any ghost."

My brows furrowed, not sure what Dean meant by that.

"That was Joseph," Sam supplied.

"The Clancys' son?" I breathed in realization.

Sam handed me a missing person's flyer and sure enough, the ghost boy who had attacked me was smiling widely on it, the name _Joseph Clancy_ typed neatly below it.

"Does this mean...?"

"Joseph Clancy isn't missing—he's dead. There's a good chance the others are probably too," Dean answered bluntly.

"Oh..." I replied, not quite sure how to respond to that.

...

**Characters:**

-Agent Young—_Dean Winchester_  
>-Agent Angus—<em>Sam Winchester<em>  
>-Miss Sullivan—<em>Bella Swan<em>

Victim 1: _Joseph Clancy Jr._  
>-Father—<em>Joseph Clancy<em>  
>-Mother—<em>Charlotte Clancy<em>  
>-Mother's Sister—<em>Kelly Tanner<em>

Victim 2: _Derek Denasy_  
>-Father—<em>Terry Denasy<em>  
>-Mother—<em>Sarah Denasy<em>

Victim 3: _Elias Manallos_  
>-Father—<em>George Manallos<em>  
>-Mother—<em>Carol Manallos<em>

-Bartender—_Melanie_  
>-Doctor—<em>Fields<em>


	6. Poetic Justice: Part IV

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><span>_"Poetic Justice"_

The brothers debated what to do next, while I remained silent in the back seat, staring at the view outside passively. Although they seemed concerned over my emotional state—if the covert glances they directed my way were any indication—there seemed to be an unspoken agreement that I wouldn't be left alone again. It had been far too easy to convince them to let me accompany them this time.

Thoughts of Victoria always remained present, but with the recent attack on my mind, my worries about her became quieter. Logically I knew that I should be more concerned about a vampire than a ghost, but I couldn't shake that feeling of helplessness with the latter.

Obviously I would be just as helpless against a vampire—more so, really—but even if I broke every bone in my body trying to break Victoria's grip, at least I would be able to _try_. With the ghost, there had been nothing, no discernable way to even attempt to escape his grasp as my hand passed through his incorporeal form.

"Apparently the Manallos are avid church-goers," Sam spoke up, drawing my attention back to their conversation. "They attend three times a week, plus Sundays," he continued.

"Tell me today is one of those days."

"Yeah. I guess they show up every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday night at six," Sam supplied, reading off some notes he must have made while they were questioning people in the bar.

"Almost time then," Dean pointed out, making a couple quick turns. "Ready to break a few more laws, Bella?"

I looked up at the rearview mirror, surprised at his use of my name. He had been calling me that nickname—_Sweet Cheeks_—for the last day and a half, undaunted by the scowl I generally wore in response. I had a feeling the move had been on purpose, as a way to pull me from my less than savory thoughts.

_Good try_, I thought as I sighed and returned my gaze to the window.

...

Despite Dean's attitude during the first break-in, Sam was once again the one to pick the lock. I still felt uneasy standing there while they worked, thinking about how anyone could happen upon us. Regardless of my fears, I couldn't help but watch Sam's dexterous hands, wondering if he would be willing to teach me how to do that someday.

While I didn't think Victoria would try to lock me away, it seemed like a good skill to have just in case I found myself in a tight spot.

The door opened much quicker this time, a fact Dean either didn't notice or chose to ignore as he teased Sam again. I smiled at the sound of their bickering, finding comfort in their easy and already familiar banter with each other.

I refocused on the task at hand, offering an understanding nod to each brother as they chose different parts of the house to search. Once again, I ended up in the kitchen, curious as to how the Manallos were fairing.

Although it wasn't as unkempt as the Clancys', it wasn't terribly clean like the Denasys' either. The only real mess seemed to be mountains of tissues, an obvious result of Mrs. Manallos' weeping. There was also a large pot jammed near the trashcan, almost as if someone held a personal grudge against it.

I stepped forward, curiously bending down to examine it closer. There was some sort of broth coated on the inside with bits of rancid meat stuck in the thick substance. It reminded me of one of Renee's failed cooking attempts. She had been determined to have a real luau for one of her birthdays and had therefore insisted on cooking a full pig.

I shuddered at the memory, quickly moving away from the foul stench of the pot.

There were some other dirty dishes in the sink, but nothing quite as nasty as whatever was left in that pot. After being so close to the horrible smell, it seemed almost burned in my nostrils. I rubbed my nose in disgust, retreating back into the living room.

_I guess I know why they want to throw it out_, I thought.

I glanced around, slightly unnerved by the silence and my inability to spot Sam or Dean. I sighed deeply, wondering if my life would always be like this. After being such a solitary person for so many years, it felt strange to constantly fear being alone.

I heard movement in the hallway, most likely from Sam or Dean. I followed quietly, still worried I would be caught by the Manallos at any moment.

"Dean?" I called in a whisper, trying to keep my voice low. "Sam?" I called a few moments later when I didn't receive a response.

I didn't check any of the rooms I passed by, assuming that if the brothers were searching in there, they wouldn't have shut the doors to do so. At least, that is what I thought until I caught the movement of a shadow beneath the door at the end of the hallway.

My heart thudded quickly in my chest as I turned the doorknob, suddenly realizing that one of the Manallos could be in there. Still, my curiosity forced me to press on when I didn't hear anything even as I started to open the door.

The room obviously belonged to a child, if the toy dinosaurs and spaceships were anything to go by. I slowly entered the room, searching for what had created the moving shadow I had seen only moments before.

The bed was covered in crumpled sheets, as if it had recently been used. The closet doors were partially open and despite my reluctance to check the dark space, I slowly slid them further down the track. I peered into the darkness, breathing a sigh of relief when nothing jumped out at me.

Another flash of movement caught my eye and I whipped around, my gaze darting around the room. I sighed when I realized what had been the cause of my unease—a slowly rotating space shuttle, dangling from a hook in the ceiling.

I glanced back at the door, wondering which brother had checked this room before me and disturbed the stillness. Finding nothing else amiss, I quickly left the room, relieved when I spotted Sam at the end of the hallway.

"Ready? The Manallos —"

Whatever Sam was about to say was cut off when the sound of jingling keys and a door being slammed interrupted the silence.

"—are here," Sam finished on a quiet groan.

My eyes widened in fear, worried over how the Manallos would react if they found us in here. After their threat of violence earlier—when all we had wanted was to ask them a few questions—I didn't think our trespassing would go over well.

Sam gestured me closer, silently asking that I follow him. He halted our progress once we reached the end of the hall, so that he could peek around the corner to make sure the coast was clear. I pressed my back against the wall, trying to keep my breathing under control.

A low mumble drifted to our ears, but neither Mr. Manallo nor his wife spoke loud enough for me to decipher their words. I tried to think of that as a good sign because that meant they weren't too close to our location.

With Sam in the lead, we slowly edged further toward the front of the house, mindful of the unintelligible hum coming from the living room. I wondered where Dean had gone off too and hoped that he wouldn't get caught.

"...you need to eat something..." Mr. Manallo replied, his voice suddenly far too distinct.

I looked up at Sam in fear, realizing how close we were to being found. Sam surveyed the space around us for a moment, before pointing me toward the kitchen.

"You want us to split up?" I mouthed in surprise, preferring to be caught with him rather than alone. I also wondered why after what we had heard from Mr. Manallo, he thought hiding in the kitchen would be a good idea.

Sam nodded jerkily and made another pointed glance toward the kitchen before pulling out his phone and slinking away in the other direction.

I stood there frozen for a moment, when the sound of a phone ringing caused me to jump into action. I entered the kitchen as stealthily as I could, glad that I had trusted Sam's judgment when I noted the presence of a backdoor.

"Hello?" Mrs. Manallo's scratchy voice finally answered, sounding far too close for my taste.

I glanced back at the door in indecision. What if I went out there only to realize that I was trapped? What if someone saw me?

"Who is this?" I heard her demand, her voice having suddenly gone shrill.

I could then hear the deep pounding of a man's footsteps closing in and in a split second decision, I quickly slipped outside, my gaze darting around the small backyard in search of somewhere to hide.

A scream threatened to escape as a hand suddenly yanked me into the bushes. While my panic increased as the palm covered my mouth, it was the gruff voice in my ear that gave me pause.

"Bella, it's me," Dean whispered.

I calmed minutely, but my heart continued to pound from the sudden shot of adrenaline. With his chest pressed to my back, I realized I could feel his heartbeat—slow and steady, as if we weren't moments away from being caught by the Manallos.

I tried to focus on the methodical thumping, timing my shallow breaths with his slow ones. Unfortunately, the more I concentrated, the stranger I felt. Apart from Edward and my brief friendship with Jacob, I hadn't been particularly close to anyone.

My relationship with Edward had been comprised of delicate caresses that left my knees weak, and restraint that made my heart ache. With Jacob, it had been about stolen touches, hidden under the guise of friendship. I always chose to ignore them, worried that if I pushed him away, he would abandon me like Edward had.

The irony of that situation wasn't lost on me.

Although the awareness of Dean's closeness was unnerving—his arms wrapped around my waist, his chest pressed flush against my back, his breath puffing against my neck—it did prove distracting enough from our current predicament.

A good ten minutes went by and when I thought I might scream if I had to sit still a moment longer, Dean's hold loosened. Following his lead, I slowly crawled through the bushes framing the side of the house, pausing each time Dean thought he heard something.

It took time, but we eventually made it to the edge of the property and quickly slipped back onto the sidewalk. With Dean by my side, we walked calmly back to where they left the car to find Sam leaning casually against the passenger side.

"That was close," I sighed, glad to be back in the car.

"And a waste of time," Dean complained, rolling his eyes.

Neither of us would mention our closeness in the bushes, it seemed.

"I feel like there's something we're missing," Sam interjected, furrowing his brows in concentration.

I was inclined to agree with him. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something just out of sight—like a word on the tip of my tongue. This all seemed very familiar somehow, but I just couldn't put my finger on why.

"Three male victims—each one an only child," Sam summarized. "Sounds ritualistic..."

"Are you thinking they were sacrifices?" Dean asked.

"It fits, doesn't it?" Sam countered.

_Sacrifices?_

"What kind of sacrifices?" I asked curiously.

"Could be anything. People have been sacrificing humans for centuries. They could be doing it now for any number of pagan rituals."

"Need some rain for your crops? Just chant a couple words while you're hacking at your neighbor and—bam! You've got it by the bucketfuls," Dean interjected.

"So...pagan gods. They're real too? I mean—they actually existed beyond myth or legend?"

"In our line of work, you kind of have to assume everything is real," Dean pointed out, while Sam inclined his head in agreement.

"Wow."

"Yeah, compared to everything that's out there, vampires are a cakewalk."

"I'm beginning to see that," I murmured, recalling my encounter with Joseph Clancy's ghost with a grimace.

...

"So...what do you want me to do?" I asked one last time—anything to put off their departure.

Dean sighed, rubbing his face in irritation. Sam, who managed to hide his annoyance a little better, offered me a sympathetic smile.

"We're going to check out the bar again—see if there's anything we missed. Meanwhile, you can pose as an incoming Freshman wanting to get a sense of the campus.

Sam pointed at the local college whose parking lot we were currently idling in. I rolled my eyes at the gesture. I may have been stalling, but that didn't mean I had gone blind. Still, I followed his line of sight, biting my lip in uncertainty.

I was a terrible liar and without Sam or Dean with me, I was worried that everyone would see right through my act. Apart from that, I didn't want to give Joseph Clancy another opportunity to corner me. I had thought that after that ordeal, we had come to an understanding when it came to my being left behind. However, their current plans were unfortunately conflicting with that idea.

My unease must've been really obvious because Dean was now opening his door and climbing out.

"I'll go with her," he sighed. "Maybe there'll be something in their records on Denasy. You can handle the bar. Try pumping Melanie for some more information. She kind of seemed like she was hiding something."

Another sigh of exasperation joined his first at the mention of _the bartender_. I blushed at what Dean might consider 'pumping for information' and tried to shake the images that came to mind unbidden. I didn't really feel guilty for depriving him of that though. My worries over psychopathic vampires and ghosts definitely overshadowed any inclination Dean might've felt to deal with a pretty woman.

"I'll call you when we're ready to be picked up. You scratch her," Dean nodded toward his car, in which Sam was now in the driver's seat, "you're dead."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's threat and deftly maneuvered the car out of the parking lot. Dean tracked his beloved vehicle's progress for a moment before abruptly turning and walking toward the closest building. I hurried to catch up with him, trying to match his purposeful stride without tripping on anything.

I glanced nervously at him as his pace began to slow, aware that we were about to go our separate ways. I didn't want to smother him—Dean didn't seem like someone who would be able to handle that kind of attention—but I was increasingly worried about being alone.

After all, the last several times I had been left to my own devices hadn't gone too well. The most recent featured a ghost with personal space issues. The time before that—the creepy Mr. Denasy, and finally, the moment that started it all—my encounter with Laurent.

So, being alone...didn't seem like such a good idea.

"Do you have a cell phone?" he asked abruptly.

"No..."

Dean gave me an odd look, almost like he thought I was kidding. When I didn't say anything more, he continued.

"Alright, then. If you don't see me in an hour, come back here," he instructed, pointing to a bench underneath a nearby tree.

I nodded in agreement, glancing around nervously as he walked toward an administrative building, effectively leaving me alone once again.

I heaved a sigh, sweeping my hair out of my face after a gust of wind thrashed it about. Without a real sense of where I was going, I began to walk aimlessly deeper into the campus.

After a few minutes of wandering, I stopped at a bulletin board, relieved to find a map of the campus posted there. Scanning the names of the buildings, I tried to locate the one Sam told me to look for. The arrangement of the map was a kind of organized chaos that—much to my annoyance—took several minutes of searching before I was able to find it.

I felt awfully young standing there, like a child lost in the big, bad college campus. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched, though the campus wasn't quite brimming with students now that the evening classes were starting.

I followed the directions I had gathered from the map, weaving between buildings and rushing students. Surprisingly, it wasn't long before I found the one I was looking for. With only a brief moment of hesitation, I pulled open one of the doors and entered.

Apart from a few stragglers scurrying off to their classes, the hallway was deserted. Bulletin boards littered with brightly colored flyers framed the vacuous space, each one trying to grain the viewer's attention. I paused to glance through them, but after realizing that they consisted mostly of roommate requests and textbooks for sale, I redirected my gaze to the doors.

Mr. Denasy's office turned out to be situated at almost the other end of the hall. Tacked on his door was a bright white name plate, nary a scratch on it, while the ones around it were scuffed and yellowed slightly with age. I wondered whether it was so pristine because it was new, or because his wife had gotten her hands on it. Even the notice tacked on his door about adding classes was pasted on the surface with precision.

"You're trying to add one of Denasy's classes?"

I turned toward the voice, surprised that someone had addressed me so directly. None of the other students had paid me any mind. The girl in question looked to be only a year or two older, though the distinct bags under her eyes made her look unnaturally weary. Her dark hair was twisted into a braid that fell over her shoulder, and looked just as ruffled as the rest of her appearance.

Although I knew that wasn't exactly my cover story—wanting to add Mr. Denasy's class—I found myself nodding. There was something about the way she had asked that made me want to see where this conversation would go. Her reaction to my confirmation only heightened my curiosity.

"Don't," she replied simply, but with enough emphasis in that one word that if I had actually been trying to add the class, I might've reconsidered.

"Why not?"

"You'd just...you'd be better off."

Her gaze kept darting to the door, as if she were worried he would overhear.

"Why would I be better off?" I persisted.

She was staring solely at the door now and I began to wonder if she was even listening anymore when she finally replied.

"I'm just trying to help you!" she huffed, obviously exasperated. "If you don't wanna listen, then that's your problem.

"No!" I reached for her when she tried to turn away. I shared her surprise at the vehement of my reaction, but pressed on. "I want to listen. I just...I need to know why."

"He doesn't treat his students right," she finally answered quietly before shaking off my grip and walking away.

_Okay, that was weird_, I thought.

When the girl—I didn't even know her name—was out of sight, I turned back to the door in quiet contemplation. It was obvious that something wasn't quite right with Mr. Denasy—a fact that I had already picked up on during our brief encounters. He hadn't behaved particularly negatively, but there was something so...unnerving about his presence—a subtle threat that even my supposedly lacking survival instincts picked up on.

I reached toward the door handle reluctantly, but paused midway.

Sam and Dean had asked me to try to find out more about Mr. Denasy through his students, but that didn't necessarily mean that I needed to interact with the man himself. I knew I was behaving cowardly, but I felt too drained from the ghost incident to deal with him.

However, as much as I didn't want to face what was behind that door, I couldn't bring myself to walk away either. Sam and Dean had trusted me to do this and although we barely knew each other, I realized that I didn't want to disappoint them. So, taking in a deep breath to steel myself for an encounter that would undoubtedly be unpleasant, I finally grasped the handle and pulled.

Unfortunately, at that same moment, whoever was behind the door had thought to push. I grunted in pain as the heavy door swung into my face, connecting with my nose. Although the blow hadn't been hard enough to break anything, I did lose my balance and ungracefully toppled to the ground.

"Oh, Miss Sullivan! Are you alright?" Mr. Denasy's voice exclaimed.

I couldn't quite make him out through the tears in my eyes. I was however, far too aware when his hands reached for me, presumably to help me up.

"I'm fine," I gasped quickly, jerking in surprise when his hands grazed the sides of my chest as he reached under my arms to help me stand.

"I am so sorry! Let me help you up," he insisted.

Mr. Denasy didn't remove his hands even as I finally regained my balance. In fact, if I wasn't so distracted by the pain, I could've sworn his thumbs had firmly begun to inch further around my chest. I tried to shake off his grip, but it was difficult when my hands were preoccupied with my nose. He persistently continued to hold onto me, claiming that I hadn't regained my balance quite yet.

"What's going on here?"

I jerked toward the voice that I had grown familiar with over the past few days, blinking back the tears in my eyes to see him better. Mr. Denasy's hands slipped away rather quickly and I breathed a sigh of relief at Dean's great timing.

"Just a little mishap with the door," Mr. Denasy supplied, cutting off my response.

Dean's stare remained on Mr. Denasy for a brief moment before shifting to me.

"Bella?"

"I'm fine," I answered reflexively, trying not to think about how that was the second time today that he had addressed me by my true name. "I was pulling open the door when he pushed and...nature took over."

"You should really be more careful," Mr. Denasy admonished.

I stared at him incredulously. Although I never shied away from taking responsibility for my own clumsiness, did he honestly think he had the right to very nearly _reprimand_ me?

I opened my mouth—to say what, I didn't know—but he beat me to the punch.

"What brings you here, anyway? Were you looking for me?" Mr. Denasy inquired with a smile.

I fidgeted under his stare, unconsciously glancing toward Dean for help. The cover story they gave me for the students wouldn't work on him and whether it was due to the throbbing pain in my nose or how unnerved I felt around this man, I was drawing a blank on viable explanations to give him.

"Well..." I began with no idea of what I was going to say, "I was—I mean, I'm here because—"

"I asked her to see about getting a slice of your wife's pie," Dean interjected, much to my relief. "We can stop by tonight," he added with a smile that even I could tell was a little forced.

My relief disappeared at the prospect of spending time with Mr. Denasy and his wife tonight. I tried to keep the grimace off of my face.

"Oh, Sarah would have loved that! Unfortunately, we're expected at a town meeting tonight," Mr. Denasy explained, frowning in disappointment.

I quelled the uncharacteristic urge to pump my fist in the air in victory, in favor of a more somber expression.

"That's too bad..." I offered, hoping he wasn't able to detect the relief in my voice.

The eyebrow Dean raised in response contested to my lack of success. I cleared my throat, trying to mentally dial down the blush I could feel spreading across my cheeks.

Mr. Denasy, fortunately, didn't seem bothered by my behavior, and only chuckled in reply. With another well placed reminder that his wife was waiting for him, he quickly turned to lock the door behind him before leaving us in the hallway.

I sighed in relief when he was gone, but hissed in pain when I unconsciously rubbed my nose. I risked a glance at Dean, frowning when I caught his eye.

"What?" I asked self-consciously.

"Did it really happen that way?"

I looked down at the floor in embarrassment, grimacing as I reluctantly confirmed the answer with a shrug. My head shot up when I heard a snicker.

"You've got to be the clumsiest person I've ever met," Dean chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah."

I walked away, rolling my eyes.

...

**I have added a charcoal sketch of **_**Joseph Clancy Jr.**_** to my deviant art if you're curious about what he looks like. I have also created a trailer for this story... The links are on my profile.**


	7. Poetic Justice: Part V

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><span>_"Poetic Justice"_

"You didn't get a name?"

"No... She kind of stormed off before I could ask."

Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. I regretted letting that girl walk away before getting any more information, especially with the look of disappointment on Dean's face. Between that and having a door slammed in my face, I was beginning to think that I couldn't do anything right.

"It's not a big deal. We've got other leads," Sam supplied, offering me a reassuring half-smile.

I watched Dean push off from the car and slide into his seat without a word. Sam shrugged at his brother's behavior before following suit. I quickly did the same, hoping to keep from annoying Dean further.

...

"Sarah? If we don't leave now, we're going to be late!"

"Just give me another moment," Sarah yelled back. "This curl refuses to stay."

"You look fine, Sarah. One wayward curl would not be the end of the world."

Sam, Dean, and I listened quietly from our perch outside their window, careful to remain hidden. We watched Mrs. Denasy emerge from the bathroom, a curler still wrapped in her hair.

"Everything must be _perfect_," she replied, glaring at her husband meaningfully.

"Objects reflected in the mirror, are more beautiful than they appear," he quoted, rubbing the arm of her free hand.

"Save your poetics for your _precious students_," she hissed. "And don't touch me."

Mrs. Denasy ripped herself out of his grasp and stormed back into the bathroom. Oddly enough, Mr. Denasy seemed entirely unfazed by her hostility. I stared at the scene before us with furrowed brows, more unnerved by the couple with each passing second.

The brothers and I continued to quietly observe, until the pair finally left—Mr. Denasy with a freshly ironed tie and Mrs. Denasy with each perfect curl in place.

...

Although this was now the third break-in I had been apart of, I followed more cautiously than before. The earlier incident at the Manallos' home had increased my unease, despite our eventual escape. Who knew how long the Denasys' would really be gone, as any number of factors could send them bursting right through the front door.

Neither Sam nor Dean appeared particularly bothered, though they did cast the door a few extra glances once we were in. I wanted to ask about exit strategies, but the question seemed stuck on my tongue. A silence had descended on us, and though I felt stupid for not asking beforehand, I was loath to break it.

This time, the brothers seemed to take extra care in remaining close—whether as a precaution or from distrust, I didn't know. Regardless of their intentions, I was glad for the comfort their presence provided. While I may not have known them for very long, I knew I was safer with them rather than without. The incident with Joseph Clancy Jr. was proof of that.

We slipped quietly in and out of each room, sifting through paperwork and seeking out anything that the Denasys might not want to be found.

"A court subpoena for Terrance L. Denasy," Sam read aloud, flipping through the pile of documents he had found stashed in a desk.

"What was he charged with? Being a creeper?"

"Close." Dean raised an eyebrow. "Get this—he was charged with sexual assault by a Miss Nancy Higgins."

I grimaced, both disgusted and absurdly relieved that my uneasiness around him wasn't unfounded.

"I knew there was something off about that slimy bastard."

"He was found...not guilty."

"So he's sneaky enough not to get caught."

"That girl I met... Do you think that was Nancy?" I asked, remembering how adamant she was about avoiding Denasy's class.

"Could've been," Sam nodded, brows furrowed.

"Or another victim," Dean supplied, glancing my way.

I averted my gaze, trying not to think about how easily I could have become another.

"So, Denasy's a scumbag. But what's that got to do with the missing children?" Sam asked, thinking out loud.

"Do the other suspects have any priors?" Dean asked.

I fidgeted self-consciously as the brothers continued to rattle off facts to each other, the amount of effort they put into research evident. I had barely been able to contribute to the conversation, having failed to learn anything—not even the name of the one person I talked to. I was beginning to feel like dead weight—a chore for the brothers to lug around.

I hated feeling that way. Even as a child, I had always needed to be helpful. That was why the Cullens tended to drive me crazy. Between Alice's visions and Edward's protectiveness, I rarely had the opportunity to be useful. They called my refusal of their aid stubbornness, but really, I just wanted to add _something_.

Now that I was finally being given the chance with Sam and Dean, I was disappointingly failing to live up to that. I was hardly a hunter like either of them, but I wasn't completely new to the _strange_ either. I didn't want to be the obligatory damsel, a faceless entity in the background.

I frowned at that last thought, genuinely worried.

Sam and Dean were still exchanging info as they sifted through the Denasys' belongings, so when I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye, I decided to pursue it. The movement was probably just a result of the lighting, but I figured I should check it out. A tiny voice in my head warned that I was being reckless, but I couldn't seem to stop myself from venturing forward.

I quietly slipped out of Mr. Denasy's office, moving slowly down the hall. I peeked into a few of the rooms, but apart from the same eerie cleanliness of the rest of the house, nothing seemed amiss. I cringed as each door clicked shut, peering down the hall at one of the rooms.

The fact that its door wasn't closed caught my attention, since I was sure I hadn't seen Sam or Dean venture down here yet. If this were anyone else's house, I might have wondered if they had merely forgotten to shut it. However, I was inside the home of the most freakishly orderly _humans_ I had ever met, and it seemed entirely odd for them to have left this one door ajar.

I stepped through the door cautiously, glancing around the room. The walls were painted a pale blue color and the carpet retained the same cream color as the rest of the house. A small bed decorated in the same colors sat pushed up against the wall.

The bed was too small for an adult, though it hardly seemed like a child's room. Apart from a wooden shelf filled with antique toys, there wasn't anything childish in sight. In fact, the wooden figurines looked so old that they might break if they were handled too much.

I looked around at the pristine bedroom, thinking about the boy who used to sleep in here.

"What a sad childhood," I frowned, recalling the bright yellow Renee had once painted the walls of my room, merely because I mentioned a fondness for the color.

Although no one could ever really call Renee a conventional mother, they couldn't call her stifling either. Despite all of her faults, I was grateful that I had a mother so willing to embrace my interests. I sighed, wondering how Renee was fairing. Charlie would've called her and there was no doubt that she was freaking out. I rubbed at my eyes, hoping to dispel those thoughts.

I nearly jumped when I dropped my hand and saw him.

"Hello?" I spoke, swallowing hard. "What's your name?"

The boy only stared at me, remaining silent.

"Where are your parents?" I asked uneasily, wondering where he had come from.

When the boy suddenly flickered to my side, I nearly shrieked with the realization that he was a ghost. Memories of Joseph Clancy Jr. had me nearly tripping over my feet in an effort to back away. The door slammed shut and I grasped the doorknob tightly, but couldn't seem to get it to turn. Shooting a quick glance back at the boy, I prepared to scream for Sam or Dean.

I exhaled, pausing at the sight of the boy's dead stare. It took a moment, but my panicked thoughts finally registered the fact that this boy was probably Derek Denasy, and that meant that he was quite obviously...dead.

The sound of another door slamming coupled with the yells of Sam and Dean, echoed down the hall.

My gaze shifted back to the boy, and I wondered what he would do next. The bruises from Joseph Clancy Jr. were still very new, as were the memories of that encounter. When the boy remained still, I wet my lips to speak.

"What do you want?" I croaked, nearly wincing as the question came out.

The boy slowly raised his arm to point behind me. I glanced back at the door reluctantly, giving the knob an experimental turn. To my surprise, it opened easily, though I could hear a harsh banging coming from Mr. Denasy's office. When I turned back around, the boy was gone.

"Hello?"

I whipped around suddenly, finding the boy standing stoically behind me. I took a hesitant step closer, my brows furrowing when he disappeared, only to reappear at the end of the hall.

"You want me to follow you?" I asked in realization.

The boy didn't reply, but I took his silent stare as confirmation.

The boy led me to the basement, sliding the locks open as he slipped through the door. I glanced back to Mr. Denasy's office in uncertainty. Although this ghost hadn't behaved particularly hostile toward me, I was still skittish after my last encounter.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself.

"You can do this," I breathed, opening the door.

I felt the wall for a switch, glancing up when the light flickered on. I wondered if the bulb needed to be replaced or if the ghost's presence was interfering with the electricity. Although I wasn't an avid viewer of horror movies, I seemed to recall that phantoms often had the ability to influence such things.

I moved slowly down the stairs, careful to watch my steps. It would be just my luck to survive vampires and ghosts only to break my neck falling down the stairs.

The basement was dark and dingy, covered in dust and grime. Although I was able to walk freely, there were many boxes stacked against the walls, appearing more cluttered than organized. The room was so vastly different to the rest of the meticulously clean house that I couldn't help but wonder if I had unknowingly entered some kind of parallel universe.

In a flash, the boy had moved to the far wall, simply standing there. He didn't seem to have any intention of really doing anything, except to stare at that wall. I approached cautiously, wary of getting too close, but curious.

Unlike the rest of the room, there were only a few water-damaged boxes lying against the bricked wall. I quickly nudged them aside, worried that the cardboard would give away if I tried to lift them. When I glanced back over at the boy, I realized that he had gone.

I took his place in front of the wall, unsure of what I was supposed to see. Hesitantly, I swept my fingers across the bricks, feeling their rough texture. Like the boxes, these were similarly damp. I surveyed the strange wall curiously, wondering what could be the source of the wetness.

Upon closer inspection, I realized that one of the bricks seemed to be a little loose. Thoughts of hidden messages and Poe came to mind as I contemplated the importance of this spot and the ghost that had led me here.

I dug my nails into the open crack around the loose brick, shifting it side to side in order to free it. It was a slow process, but eventually the piece slipped out. The rest weren't quite as difficult to remove, which I realized must mean that the wall was recently put together.

When the hole was a decent size, I slipped my hand inside, silently hoping that there wasn't anything dangerous inside. I felt around, pausing when my fingers trailed over something soft and another piece that was slightly rougher. Grabbing the object, I pulled it into the light.

The soft fabric belonged to a blue shirt, while the rougher piece turned out to be a pair of jean shorts. Both articles of clothing were small and identical to what the ghost boy had been wearing. My hand was shaking as I reached back into the hole again and wrapped my fingers around the another item—this time, something smooth.

"Bella! Are you—"

The voice cut off at the sight of the object in my hands. I could barely believe my own eyes as I quickly dropped it onto the ground, staring at it in horror. Between the rumpled pair of clothes and the ghost that had led me here, there was little doubt in my mind that this child-sized bone belonged to the late Derek Denasy.

...

The brothers were talking, but I couldn't quite hear them as their voices had dissolved into a sort of unintelligible buzz in the background. Although I had already come to the conclusion that the boy was dead upon seeing his ghost, the real flesh and bone—in a manner of speaking—physical manifestation of that was far more disturbing.

I blinked as Dean suddenly took a hold of my arms. He seemed to be trying to ask me something. Taking a deep breath, I pushed my shock away so that I could answer him.

"What?"

"How did you know where to look?" Dean asked, nodding toward the wall.

I followed his gesture to see Sam reaching into the hole. When he began to pull out the rest of the bones, I quickly averted my gaze back to Dean's face.

"Derek...Denasy," I whispered, struggling over his name, before swallowing and raising my voice, "he led me to them."

"He led you?" Dean repeated in disbelief.

I nodded in confirmation, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. I had watched a vampire get burned alive—I could handle this.

Apparently Dean didn't quite agree because he began to shuffle me away from the scene.

"Why don't you take a seat while we finish up?" Dean suggested, though he spoke in a tone that booked no argument.

"I can handle it," I protested anyway, unnerved, but unwilling to show weakness.

Dean paused from his attempts to get me to sit down.

"You just found a kid's bones hidden in the wall. No one should be able to handle that," he replied in an even tone, his expression unreadable.

I had no idea how to reply to that and therefore found myself unintentionally sitting on the stairs as I watched Dean walk over to Sam, considering his words. I wondered if Dean was more affected by all of this than he let on and if not, then what kind of person did that make him?

...

"Is that strange?" I asked, noticing the quick look Dean shot at Sam.

"Spirits need a physical connection to remain behind. Hair, fingernails, bones. They're pretty protective of whatever is tethering them here. Especially around Hunters," Sam spoke, still inspecting the hole in the wall.

"Why especially Hunters?"

"Because we're the ones who send them packing."

"How?" I asked curiously, remembering how strong Joseph Clancy Jr. had seemed. I glanced at Dean, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Salting and burning the remains," Sam supplied instead.

"What happens to them?"

Sam and Dean exchanged another look.

"We...don't really know," Sam answered honestly.

I thought about Derek Denasy, unconsciously worrying my lip. Despite being a little creepy now that he was a ghost, he was still a child. What if where the brothers were sending him was somewhere really horrible?

"You're not going to...do that...to Derek Denasy, are you?" I asked quietly, glancing at the small pile of bones Sam was still removing from within the wall.

Dean regarded me strangely. "Of course we are."

"But he helped us!" I argued, unnerved by his matter-of-fact tone.

"He's a ghost, Bella," Sam pointed out calmly.

"He's also a child," I reminded him.

"It doesn't matter."

I turned to face Dean in shock.

"It doesn't matter? How can you—"

"He's a ghost, Bella," Dean repeated, cutting me off. "Whatever he was before, that's gone. It doesn't matter how good he was or how much he's helped us because soon all that's gonna be left is an angry spirit."

I glanced at Sam and grimaced when he nodded. The idea of that poor boy becoming like Joseph Clancy Jr. was more disturbing than the alternative. I hated to think it, but if he was destined to turn into _that_, then maybe he was better off somewhere else.

"What about the police?" I asked suddenly.

"As far as these people are concerned, we _are_ the police."

"No, I mean, if the Denasys _did_ kill Derek, then won't they need his bones for evidence? If you burn them—"

"We'll be stopping the spirit from hurting anyone," Sam cut in.

"But what about—"

"We're not cops, Bella," Dean reminded me. "We're hunters."

I stared at Dean oddly.

"So? Don't you care that they murdered their son?" I asked in disbelief.

"Of course we care," Sam sighed. "But—"

"But it's not our job to convict killers. Not unless they're doing the demonic boogie."

My gaze shifted between each brother, noting the finality their words carried. As much as I wanted to deny it, they did have a point. Hunting, while it did involve quite a bit of deduction, wasn't really the same as tracking criminals.

The Cullens had often taken the law into their own hands too.

I folded my hands in my lap, scratching at my jeans. I tried not to think about what Sam and Dean were going to do, but my thoughts were of little else.

...

I hid away in the bathroom once we returned to the hotel room. I knew it was a little childish, but I just couldn't face them after watching them burn that poor boy's bones. Although I understood their reasoning, I couldn't stop thinking about the Cullens.

As vampires, they were expected to be vicious—and maybe they had the potential to be if they were really provoked—but they weren't evil. Despite the expectation, they were compassionate and kind, denying the stereotypes so frequently applied to their species.

Maybe the brothers were right and it was inevitable that Derek would become like Joseph Clancy Jr., but what if they weren't? After what the boy had done, didn't he deserve a chance?

I slipped in the shower, scrubbing my body tiredly, ineffectively trying to wash away the guilt.

…

When I emerged from my shower—feeling refreshed, but not quite clean—I found the brothers discussing Derek Denasy and his actions tonight.

"Why would he lead us to his remains? He had to have known we'd burn them," Dean asked, though the question didn't seem to be addressed to anyone in particular.

"What about the bones? They looked like they'd been—"

"Licked clean," Dean supplied.

I stilled, feeling some sort of twinge in the back of my head. It was the kind of intangible discomfort that came when something sparked a memory, but I couldn't quite access it. I frowned in frustration when nothing directly came to mind.

I quickly shook those thoughts away when I realized one of them had addressed me.

"What?" I asked, embarrassed that I had been caught zoning out.

"We picked up some food while you were in there," Dean repeated, jerking his thumb toward the bathroom.

I glanced at the table, noticing the take-out containers. I sighed internally, wondering if I'd ever find my way to a kitchen again. If Victoria or Joseph did manage to kill me, I'd hate not to get one last home cooked meal.

"Oh…thanks," I replied lamely, scurrying over to the table.

I could feel the brothers' eyes on me as I began to eat, but I pretended not to notice, still unsure of what to say to them. Although I didn't regret the way I spoke to them earlier, I was worried I had overstepped my boundaries. I was amazed that they had allowed me to accompany them and even listen to what I had to say. I knew it was mostly a precaution after I had been attacked by Joseph Clancy Jr., but I was still grateful that they were treating me almost like…an equal.

That thought in itself was strange, considering how little the Cullens had seemed to value my input. Sure, they would allow me to speak, but there was always this feeling that they weren't quite listening, this knowledge that regardless of what I had to say, they knew better. After all, their mental capacity reached much farther than my own.

Maybe Sam and Dean didn't put much stock in my words either, but I couldn't help feeling that they were more open to it. They had far more experience dealing with the supernatural, but they were also human. We may not have been equal, but there was this potential to be that I had lacked with the Cullens, since they refused to allow me to become one of them.

I sighed in resignation, pushing away my food, which I had barely touched anyway. I lifted my gaze to the meet each of the brothers, who were pretended not to have been watching.

"I'm sorry about earlier," I spoke quietly, though I hoped that didn't discount the sincerity of my words.

Their attention shifted back to me, but they remained silent.

"Not about what I said," I hastened to explain, looking down at my food. "But I'm sorry for how it came out. I know you have more experience with this than I do…" I glanced up, before quickly looking back down. "It's just…" I trailed off, unsure of how to explain myself.

"We understand," Sam finally spoke, much to my relief. "It's never easy…doing what we do."

"I'm beginning to see that," I replied with an uneasy sort of smile that felt foreign on my face.

"I'm going to bed," Dean said suddenly, unbuttoning his jeans, "before you two start hugging or something."

Sam rolled his eyes, obviously used to his brother's antics. I, however, was too busy trying not to blush as Dean slipped out of his jeans, unconcerned with his audience. I took a quick gulp of soda in an effort to cool my blush, forced my gaze to his face, and nearly choked when he winked at me.

...


	8. Poetic Justice: Part VI

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><span>_"Poetic Justice"_

Despite nightmares filled with homicidal vampires and ghost children, I was ready for the next day, determined to learn something new. The brothers similarly seemed to be getting anxious, and I wondered if their cases usually progressed a lot quicker than this.

Our first stop for the day—after grabbing some breakfast—was the hospital. Dr. Fields had called with some information he wanted to discuss concerning Kelly Tanner's injuries. Although it didn't sound all that promising, it was a lead. While Dean followed Dr. Fields to his office, Sam and I decided to check in on Kelly Tanner.

"Now list my son…"

The voice broke off as we entered the doorway, where we found Mrs. Clancy reading by Kelly's bedside. While I was surprised to see her there—despite knowing that she visited her sister often—there was something else nagging at the back of my mind.

"What are you doing here?" Mrs. Clancy asked, her voice far more animated than I had ever heard before.

Her rude words and Sam's explanation didn't concern me though because something had triggered a memory that I couldn't quite grasp.

_Now list my son…_

I chewed on my lip, furrowing my brows.

_Now list my son…_

Where had I heard that before? It sounded so familiar, but I couldn't quite…

_Now list my son…_

Suddenly, I remembered that book on the table beside Kelly's bed. The book was no longer there, but one quick glance at the cover of the book in Mrs. Clancy's hands confirmed where it had gone.

"What book were you reading from?" I blurted, interrupting their conversation, which I hadn't heard a word of.

Mrs. Clancy eyed me warily, but held up the book.

"It's Kelly's favorite. She always loved reading, especially older literature. She wanted to be a Medievalist," Mrs. Clancy explained, her tone growing sadder near the end.

"May I see that book?" Sam asked.

I glanced over at him, noting the look in his eyes. He seemed to have realized something too, least of all that whatever was in that book was somehow very important.

Mrs. Clancy clutched the book almost protectively, her eyes wary.

"Why? It's just a book," she replied defensively.

"Humor me," Sam advised, though the note of authority in his suddenly hard voice offered no disagreement.

Mrs. Clancy had heard it too and despite her reluctance, she eventually stood and handed the book over. I stood at Sam's side, glancing at the book as he skimmed it, recognizing it immediately.

"The Lover's Confession," I read aloud.

It was a story I remembered coming across when Carlisle had given me free reign of his library. It was one of the few books that I had actually allowed myself to borrow, considering that it was a newer edition. It had seemed strange for something so new and easily replaceable to be among his collection, and I had often wondered if he hadn't bought the copy merely for that reason.

"I've read that before…"

"How often do you read this to her?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know," Mrs. Clancy ground out, her tone as hard as his. "It was her favorite."

"That's the story of Procne, Philomela, and Tereus, who—oh god," I gasped, realization dawning.

All of our eyes jerked toward the door as it suddenly slammed shut. My eyes widened in fear as the cause materialized in front of the only exit, gaze locking with mine.

"Joseph?" Mrs. Clancy gasped, staggering backward.

Sam pulled a shotgun from within his coat, taking a quick shot at the ghost. Mrs. Clancy screamed as he avoided the shot and appeared behind Sam, slamming him against the wall before he could fire another. I watched in horror as Sam's gun slid under the bed and he slumped to the floor, knocked out from the blow.

Joseph Clancy Jr. paid no mind to his mother, his gaze once again locked with mine.

"There's no one to save you now, bitch," he sneered.

I backed away, stiffening when I hit the wall behind me. Joseph Clancy Jr. was stalking toward me, while Mrs. Clancy sat huddled in the corner, her expression horrified at the sight of her son. The door was most likely locked and the window behind me was out, being that we were on the third floor.

There was another window beside the door and before I made a conscious decision to, I was already darting toward it. The ghost allowed me to run around him, but before my fingers could touch the glass, I felt myself being jerked back harshly by my hair.

I screamed at the pain in my scalp, but was cut off as I was thrown to the floor, the wind knocked out of me. It took a moment for my disorientation to recede enough for me to notice the banging on the door and the sound of Dean's voice.

"Bella! Sam!" he yelled through the door.

"Sam's been knocked out," I hollered back. "Joseph Clancy Jr. is—"

I was cut off as Joseph Clancy Jr. wrapped his hand around my throat, squeezing viciously. His other hand slipped to my jeans. I struggled against his hold, but his grip on my neck was too tight and I was beginning to feel lightheaded from the lack of air.

I distantly heard the sound of glass shattering.

"Fun's over, asshole," Dean's voice filtered into my hazy thoughts, before the ghost's grip was suddenly gone.

Dean lifted me into an upright position while I choked on the influx of air.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I was about to reply when Joseph Clancy Jr. reappeared behind him, a snarl on his face.

"Dean! Look out!" I croaked out.

Dean jerked around, barely managing to avoid the ghost's blow. I watched them for a moment, but quickly shifted my attention to Mrs. Clancy, who was mumbling to herself. That was when I recalled what we had been discussing before her son made an appearance.

The story was much too familiar for it to be a coincidence. I knew now what had happened to Joseph Clancy Jr.—the same thing that had happened to Procne's son.

"Mrs. Clancy," I tried to get her attention, but she didn't seem to be listening, her gaze focused on the ghostly form of her son.

"Mrs. Clancy!" I shouted, shaking her shoulders. Her terrified gaze finally shifted to me. "I know you're scared, but we need your help.

I waited, making sure that she was listening before I continued.

"I need to know where you hid your son's bones."

I had her full attention now.

"I—I don't—" she sputtered.

"We know you killed him," I interrupted. "But that doesn't matter right now. We need to stop him and to do that, we need his bones."

Mrs. Clancy's gaze drifted to her son once again, the terrified look in her eyes shifting to determination as it slipped to her sister's unconscious form. She nodded at me, her expression steely.

Another shot was fired and I turned around to see Joseph Clancy Jr. fade from sight in a cloud of ghostly smoke. Sam must have come to while I was talking to Mrs. Clancy because he was on his feet once again, slipping his shotgun back underneath his coat.

…

We entered Mrs. Clancy's house warily, each of the brothers holding a shotgun in their hands. Knowing where she was leading us, we suspected that Joseph Clancy Jr. wouldn't be far away. In fact, we were kind of expecting it.

I waited with Dean in the living room while Sam accompanied Mrs. Clancy further into the house. My reflection in a nearby mirror caught my attention and I slowly raised my hand to one of the dark fingerprints that had manifested itself on my red skin.

"How's your neck?"

I jumped at the sound of Dean's voice, quickly dropping my hand. When I turned, his gaze shifted from the mirror to my neck.

"Fine," I replied automatically, my words notably less scratchy than before.

Dean nodded, though I could tell that he didn't quite believe me.

"I've had worse," I explained, though as his gaze shifted to mine, I realized that maybe I shouldn't have.

I braced myself for an unpleasant line of questioning.

"Yeah, me too," he replied instead, much to my surprise.

I opened my mouth, unsure of how to reply to that, but found my voice as Joseph Clancy Jr. suddenly appeared behind Dean.

"Dean!"

My warning came too late, as Joseph Clancy Jr. flung him across the room, knocking the gun out of his hands. This time the ghost followed Dean, who was already pulling himself back up to his feet. Without his gun, however, Dean was no match for the incorporeal being.

I watched in horror as Joseph Clancy Jr. began to choke him. I wasn't sure why Sam hadn't found us yet, but that didn't matter. Dean was running out of time, his body weakening before my eyes as he struggled helplessly against the ghost's hold.

I glanced around desperately for something to use, remembering what the brothers had once said about iron being useful in fighting off ghosts. Unfortunately, the Clancys didn't have a fireplace and I was beginning to panic when my gaze settled on Dean's discarded shotgun.

I darted toward it, grabbing the shotgun and quickly aiming it at the back of the ghost's head. I tried to calm down, afraid I would miss in my frenzied state. I settled the butt of the gun against my right shoulder, titling my head.

I focused my line of sight down the end of the barrel to the ghost, taking a deep breath before pulling the trigger. I gritted my teeth against the force of the kick back, which I knew would probably leave a bruise.

The ghost vanished in that same smoky manner he had earlier, releasing his hold on Dean.

"Dean! What happened?" Sam asked, rushing into the room with Mrs. Clancy not far behind.

Sam's gaze shifted from the crumpled form of his brother and settled on the gun in my hands. My eyes widened at how this must look.

"I—" I tried to explain, but Dean interrupted.

"Clancy showed up while you were gone. Bella—where did you learn how to shoot like that?" Dean cut himself off, staring at me.

"My dad's the Chief of Police in a small mountain town," I shrugged sheepishly. "How else do you think I spent my summers? Fishing and shooting."

Dean's lips quirked up at this and I chewed on my lip, uncomfortable with everyone's attention focused on me. I handed Dean the gun as he stood, glancing away as I quickly searched for something to break the silence. I noticed the bundle in Mrs. Clancy's arms.

"Are those the…?" I trailed off, uncomfortably.

Mrs. Clancy took a deep breath, nodding wordlessly. She handed Sam the bones, avoiding our gazes. We followed Sam to the backyard, watching as he spread them out on the dirt. He took a can of lighter fluid from inside his coat and squeezed it onto the bones.

Dean pulled out a lighter, flicking it onto the pile. The three of us watched silently as the remains of Joseph Clancy Jr. burned, putting an end to his ghostly assaults.

…

When we reentered the house, Mrs. Clancy was sitting at the kitchen table, much like she had when we first spoke with her two days ago. This time, there was a sense of defeat to her otherwise emotionless exterior.

"You killed him."

Mrs. Clancy exhaled when Sam spoke, but otherwise remained unaffected.

"You're not cops," she finally spoke, though her voice lacked accusation.

"No, we're not," Dean confirmed. "Why did you kill him?"

Mrs. Clancy didn't reply right away.

"He deserved it," she said eventually.

I mulled over her response. When I learned that one, or possibly both, of the Denasys had killed their son, I had been horrified. However, after my many encounters with Joseph Clancy Jr., I knew I didn't feel quite the same about his death.

"Your sister…" I spoke slowly, almost unwilling to speak my thoughts aloud. "It wasn't just a hit and run, was it?"

Mrs. Clancy clenched her hands into fists.

"She tried to warn me. She said Joseph had been giving her these looks. I thought—I thought she was jealous," Mrs. Clancy grimaced. "When she said my son was joining in… I—I told her she was making it up."

The three of us watched as Mrs. Clancy's disinterested façade slipped away.

"They attacked her. And when she finally got away…when she tried to get help…they…they stopped her," her voice shook. "What kind of monster would do that? To his own aunt? _To my sister?_"

"So you decided to get revenge," Dean supplied.

"Using this for inspiration," Sam added, producing Kelly Tanner's book from within this coat.

He must have swiped it after the commotion. I watched Sam flip to the correct page, while Dean looked at it curiously. Noticing his confusion, I hastened to explain.

"The Lover's Confession. It's a story about how a husband…rapes…his sister-in-law and cuts out her tongue so she can't tell anyone. When his wife learns the truth, she and her sister get revenge by..." I trailed off, the rest of the explanation dying in my throat.

"By killing and cooking the husband's child and feeding it to him," Sam finished.

Dean's gaze snapped to Mrs. Clancy.

"So your sister gets hurt and you make your husband go all Hannibal Lecter?" Dean remarked. "That's just sick."

"What I don't understand is why you didn't just turn them in," I wondered aloud.

"Because I wanted to hurt them," Mrs. Clancy ground out, her jaw clenched.

"And if they got arrested, you wouldn't have been able to host your own cooking show from Hell."

Mrs. Clancy glared at Dean, but didn't comment.

"I understand wanting revenge for what your husband and son did to Kelly. But why did you kill Derek Denasy and Elias Manallos?"

Mrs. Clancy looked up at Sam in shock.

"I didn't kill them," she replied, and I was surprised to note the almost worried edge to her tone. "I thought they were just missing?"

"We found Derek Denasy's body last night. There was nothing left of him but his bones. They had similar marks as your son's. As if they had been handled with cooking utensils," Sam revealed.

I looked at him in surprise. Although I had discovered Derek's bones, I hadn't gotten a close look at them. The thought of examination had been far from my mind, too disturbed by what I had found. That was when I remembered our trip to the Manallos' house and the dirty pot I had found in their kitchen. Even now, I could recall the foul stench of the rotten flesh that still coated it.

"When we were at the Manallos' house," I spoke suddenly, "I found this used pot in their kitchen. It was coated in some kind of rancid meat. It sort of looked like pork, but it wasn't. And it smelled… It was the kind of smell that burned your nose even after you left."

Sam and Dean's attention quickly shifted to me.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" Dean demanded, his tone nearly accusing.

"I didn't think it was important," I replied sheepishly, embarrassed over my blunder. "And I kind of…forgot about it until now," I admitted, blushing.

Dean rubbed his face tiredly, but didn't comment further, for which I was grateful.

"But if you didn't kill them, then who did? Three missing boys, all with fathers who have been accused of sexual assault. That can't be a coincidence."

"Unless all of the victims were fans of old literature," I quipped, but regretted doing so when the brothers glanced at me again.

After my error of judgment with the dirty pot, it would probably be in my best interests to keep quiet and fade into the background.

"That's—wait. What if it was Kelly?" Sam suggested suddenly.

"Kelly? But she's in a coma," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but there have been cases of people who wake from comas and claim to have had an out-of-body experience while they were under. What if that's what's happening to Kelly?" Sam replied.

"You think she's singling out the wives and making them reenact that story?" Dean asked, receiving a nod from Sam in return. "But why? When her sister already got her revenge for her?"

"Maybe it's not about revenge. When Philomela gets attacked in the story, revenge isn't really the first thing she has in mind. At least, not the kind like she gets later," Sam explained.

"She wanted to tell everyone," I interjected, realization dawning. "She wanted everyone to know what he'd done. She wanted to shame him."

"Exactly."

"But she didn't get the chance because he cut out her tongue…" Dean continued.

"Like how Mr. Clancy and his son ran over Kelly and put her in that coma—to stop her from telling," I added, noting the similarities in a horrified sort of awe.

"Stop it!" Mrs. Clancy shrieked suddenly. "Kelly wouldn't do that!"

"She _is_ doing it. And unlike your son, those other boys were innocent. She's making their mothers murder them because _you_ won't tell the truth," Dean replied, his tone hard.

"You're wrong!"

"Who are you protecting? Your husband had as much of a hand in what happened to Kelly as your son did. Probably a lot more. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the hit and run was his idea."

"Shut up!" Mrs. Clancy yelled shrilly, covering her ears.

I could do nothing but stare in silence at the state Mrs. Clancy was in. After the cold and collected persona I had encountered over the last couple of days, seeing her so riled up was extremely disconcerting. Even when her dead son had materialized in the hospital and began choking me, she hadn't looked so bothered.

"You…you still love him…don't you?" I asked quietly.

Mrs. Clancy glared harshly at me, but her fury didn't last long. I watched as her anger faded away and her shoulders slumped in defeat. It seemed that despite what her husband had done and what she had done in return to him, her feelings for him remained.

"I know it's hard…loving someone who has done terrible things. But your sister isn't going to stop until you tell. She's going to keep killing boys—children who aren't really guilty of anything, but coming from a bad gene pool."

I managed to keep my gaze leveled with hers during my whole speech, aware of how hypocritical it truly was. I had loved Edward, despite the deeds he had done. However, as horrible as it sounded now, I hadn't been bothered by it, always citing the murders he had committed as something he couldn't really control. I was almost proud of him, in fact, for being able to find a way to curb his bloodlust without hurting innocent people by targeting the guilty.

So I didn't really know how Mrs. Clancy felt because although I had loved Edward despite his past, I hadn't been truly horrified by his misdeeds, which had seemed too distant and disconnected with the Edward I knew. Mrs. Clancy had real horrors to deal with and I wondered if my love for Edward would be able to withstand such trials. While a big part of me believed I would love Edward no matter what, I couldn't imagine how I would feel in Mrs. Clancy's place.

"I'll—I'll go to the station now," Mrs. Clancy finally replied in a shaky voice, her expression resigned.

When I glanced away, I noticed the brothers' stare. I quickly averted my gaze, wary over what I might have just revealed about myself.

...

The truth about Kelly Tanner had been revealed and although Mrs. Clancy was now facing some charges for obstructing justice as well as murder, her husband was now behind bars. Apparently, Dr. Fields had found some strange markings on Kelly's body upon being brought in, which was what he had wanted to discuss with Dean. That evidence was going to help the police convict Mr. Clancy.

After some interrogation, Dean had learned that Mr. Clancy had threatened Dr. Fields into silence. Normally, Dr. Fields wouldn't have allowed himself to be bullied, but when his teenage daughter was brought into the mix, he had resigned himself to silence.

Once he heard of Mr. Clancy's arrest, Dr. Fields had no problem with coming forward with his findings.

Since Kelly had been responsible for the murders of Derek and Elias through possession of Mrs. Denasy and Mrs. Manallos, the brothers had opted out of mentioning them. They hadn't had any control over their actions and the guilt over what they had done would probably be punishment enough.

Despite the lack of tangible proof that Kelly Tanner wasn't going to pick back up on targeting wives and sons, the brothers seemed confident that the case was closed. Of course, without any remains to burn, they couldn't be sure, so they left their number with Dr. Fields, instructing him to call if anymore children went missing.

Although I wouldn't quite call it happy, there was a nice sense of accomplishment that came with finally solving the case. I couldn't help comparing us with one of the great detectives, though I wouldn't quite call ourselves that. They weren't Sherlock and I wasn't Watson, but we had put an end to the murders and that was a nice feeling.

Thoughts of Edward, the Cullens, violating ghosts, and murdering mothers had slowly faded away as the brothers and I ate in one of Spokane's finest diners—at least, according to their menu.

"Impersonating federal officers, breaking and entering, hunting ghosts..." I listed off. "That's one hell of a job."

"You're telling me, Sweet Cheeks," Dean grinned. "You haven't even heard the best part."

"What's the best part?" I asked curiously.

The waitress stopped at our table, placing a dish in front of each of us with a pleasant smile.

"Pie?" I asked in disbelief, resisting the urge to laugh.

"Mhm," Dean confirmed, shoving a healthy amount into his mouth with a wide smile.

Sam and I shared a look and I shrugged, before digging into my own slice.

_I've made better_, I thought, smirking silently to myself.

...

_**The Lover's Confession**_** was written by John Gower. The book that was referred to in this story is ****The Norton Anthology of English Literature**** (Eighth Edition; Volume A; The Middle Ages).**

**That concludes the first episode. I already have a general idea of what the second episode will be about, so you can look forward to that.**

**Thank you for sticking with this story, despite my sporadic updates. I could cite a million excuses—car accident, physical therapy, classes, work, and my laptop crashing. By the way, it cost me $100 to recover these files, so…yeah. That's how committed I am writing all this.**

**Anyway, I'll get started on the next episode, which will feature a surprise guest from Twilight.**


	9. The Red Hooded Figure: Part I

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><span>_"The Red-Hooded Figure"_

**Kennewick, Washington**

It hadn't taken long for the brothers and me to pack up and leave Spokane. With the Clancys behind bars and Kelly Tanner's spirit put to rest, there had been no reason to remain there. In fact, being seen in town any longer would have probably seemed suspicious.

I still felt a little uneasy over how we had left things. Although the supernatural threat had been taken care of, I couldn't help thinking about Mr. Denasy and what he had done to Nancy Higgins. I knew that the brothers didn't deal with that sort of thing, but I couldn't help feeling a distinct lack of closure.

Mr. Denasy had made me uncomfortable from the start and I couldn't stop imagining what would have happened if he had managed to corner me alone. Would I have ended up like Nancy Higgins? Would the brothers have cared then?

I knew that last thought was unfair, so I quickly pushed it away. The brothers did care—I knew that too—but they had limits to what they could do. Although they seemed willing to die to protect humankind from the supernatural, they couldn't very well save them from themselves.

So with a heavy heart, I pushed thoughts of Spokane away, determined to move on.

When I asked the brothers where we were headed next, they didn't seem to have a specific place in mind. "Somewhere in Washington" had been the clearest answer I could get, which I gathered meant that they didn't exactly have another hunt lined up.

Despite the accomplished feeling of finally solving the mystery behind the missing children, I couldn't say that I was disappointed. Jumping back into the fray of supernatural creatures didn't sound particularly appealing, at least, not with the strangle marks still fresh on my skin. I was grateful for the cold climate, knowing that the turtle neck sweater I was wearing wouldn't be glanced at twice.

The brothers were bickering as always—something about the type of music Dean listened to. I had honestly been tuning that out, wary of potentially hearing any lyrics that might remind me of Edward and cause some kind of breakdown. Despite this, I couldn't deny that the vibrating stereo and smooth drive was sort of relaxing. Even their arguing seemed to only add to this feeling.

"What do you think, Bella?"

"Huh?" was my intelligent reply, drawn out of my thoughts by Sam's voice.

"Sammy here," Dean jerked his thumb toward his brother, as if I had forgotten, "says he's sick of Metallica. Said he'd rather listen to Britney Spears."

Sam's exasperated sigh nearly made me smile.

"I never said Britney—"

"Yeah, like I didn't catch you singing along to that _Oops, I did it again_ song last week."

"I wasn't—"

"So what about you, Bella?" Dean cut him off again. "Don't tell me you're into that girly pop crap…"

"Um…" I bit my lip, uncertain of how to answer that.

I knew what I used to listen to, but the thought of mentioning something like Debussy now made my heart ache. Memories of private piano concerts in Forks and long afternoons in Phoenix with the radio on seemed so distant now.

"…I don't really listen to music," I finally replied, opting to go with honesty.

My eyes widened as Dean suddenly hit the brakes, making me jerk forward and nearly fall off my seat. I rubbed my forehead, which had slammed pretty hard into the back of their seats. When I looked up, it was to find Dean turned halfway around in his seat, staring at me with horror.

"Dude. Was that really necessary?" Sam groaned, though I could tell from the look on his face that he shared his brother's shock.

"Did you just say you don't listen to music?" Dean asked in disbelief.

"I used to," I replied, somewhat defensive. "Just…not anymore."

Dean continued to stare at me for a moment, likely waiting for an explanation I wouldn't give. When it became clear that I wasn't going to elaborate, he finally turned around, all the while shaking his head.

"That's just wrong."

"Dean—"

"You know it's true Sam. Hating music? That's psychotic."

"I don't _hate_ music," I interjected, starting to get annoyed. I was especially bothered that he was questioning my cognitive functions. "Just because I stopped listening, doesn't mean I hate it."

"What do you do when you're driving? Just sit there quietly?" Dean continued, nearly belligerent over the idea of someone not listening to music.

"I'm sure she doesn't…" Sam tried to defend me.

"I like Metallica," I finally revealed, fed up with Dean's accusations. "At least, I used to listen to them sometimes. I couldn't really name any of their songs though."

I was glad to hear only silence in reply and figured I had appeased Dean when he finally pulled back onto the road. I prepared myself to tune them out again, wanting to take some time to cool down my heated face, as well as my annoyance. If I had thought Dean was finished though, I was wrong.

"See, Sammy? Even Sweet Cheeks likes Metallica. And she hates music," Dean gloated.

Sam and I groaned, which Dean had no problem drowning out with the radio.

…

I trailed after Sam when we spotted Dean, who was twirling a set of keys to our new hotel room.

"Head's up!" he called and I suddenly found myself being pelted by hotel mints.

I tried to catch it, but it seemed that my poor coordination really knew no bounds. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Sam snatch his chocolate out of the air easily, while mine managed to whack me in the forehead before falling to the floor.

"Nice catch," Dean smirked, popping another mint in his mouth.

I quickly bent down to grab my piece, trying not to blush in embarrassment.

"I've never been good at catching things…" I explained needlessly. "…or hitting things. My classmates always knew to avoid me when I'm attempting anything athletic. I could make a volleyball dangerous," I laughed uneasily.

"I'd say I'm not surprised, but after watching you waste that ghost…" Dean trailed off, eyebrow raised.

"Guns are different," I replied, brows furrowed as I tried to think of how to explain. "Charlie used to have me practice every summer—at least, until Renee found out—and he always drilled it into my head how careful I needed to be because of how easily I could hurt someone…"

"Why don't you try treating sports like you do shooting?" Sam suggested.

I shook my head.

"I've tried. It's just not the same. I guess because sports aren't really supposed to be dangerous? I always tense up, wondering who I'm going to end up injuring. With guns, I've always known how easily I could hurt someone. You know what I mean?" I asked, glancing between the brothers hopefully.

"Nope. You're just strange, Sweet Cheeks," Dean replied after a moment.

I felt my face fall, disappointed that I hadn't gotten my point across. I'm strange? I didn't need Dean to tell me that.

"He's kidding," Sam explained.

I looked to Dean for confirmation.

"Well if you're gonna pout…" Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, I was kidding," he admitted.

I felt myself blush, embarrassed over letting a simple joke bother me so much.

"Sorry," I apologized sheepishly.

Dean rolled his eyes again, before turning to lead us to our new room. I lagged behind, trying to collect myself before following them in. I paused in the doorway when I noticed the two double beds and the lack of a third.

"Um…there's only two beds," I pointed out.

Sam glanced up from the bag he had been rummaging through.

"I thought you asked for three beds?" Sam directed the question at Dean.

"I did," Dean replied, looking around the room. "Are you sure there isn't a third somewhere?"

I nearly rolled my eyes at the implication that I had managed to overlook an entire bed in the small motel room. When it became apparent that my eyesight hadn't gone bad and there really wasn't a third bed, Sam gave Dean a pointed look.

"Alright," Dean relented, sitting up from his reclined position on one of the beds. "I'll go see if they've got a cot or something."

I shifted out of the doorway to allow Dean to pass, keeping my gaze averted to the floor. Sam had stopped fussing with his bags and I glanced up when I felt attention settle on me.

"Don't worry, if they don't have a cot, we'll just get an extra room," Sam offered reassuringly.

I smiled back in relief.

That relief quickly faded when Dean returned with a frown on his face.

"No cots," Dean explained, continuing before Sam could interrupt, "and they don't have anymore rooms. I already checked."

I bit my lip, suddenly worried. I watched Dean walk back to his bed, resuming his relaxed position against the headboard.

"Where will I sleep?" I asked.

"Here, you can bunk with me," Dean offered, patting the bedspread. "Sasquatch might roll over in the night and accidentally squish you."

Sam sighed at what I could only assume was one of Dean's colorful nicknames for him. If he said anything in return, I didn't hear it, too caught up on what Dean had said.

"You want us to…share?"

"I'm not going to take advantage, if that's what you're worried about," Dean replied with a roll of his eyes, misinterpreting my reluctance. "I'm not into jailbait. Your virtue is safe."

"I'm eighteen," I blurted, though I instantly regretted that when Dean raised an eyebrow in response. "I mean, I'm not worried about that…" I rushed to explain, trying to repress a blush. "I—I just… Will we have enough room?"

Although space was an issue, that wasn't really what I was worried about. I was concerned with our proximity to each other, which I had begun to realize had a weird affect on me. I couldn't place a name to it, but there had been an odd sort of awareness with Dean's chest pressed against my back as we hid in the Manallos' bushes. Even worse, I had been caught staring when Dean was changing last night.

I hadn't meant to stare, I had just been so shocked that he would drop his pants right in the open, without thought or care to the presence of his brother and I in the room. Sure, he had been wearing boxers underneath, but it had still come as a surprise.

There was also the fact that I hadn't been that close to anyone in a long time. After Edward left, I had taken to clutching a large body-sized pillow in the night, desperate for something to hold onto. I wasn't sure how I would behave with someone actually beside me, but I was certain it would probably end up being embarrassing.

"It should be fine," Dean shrugged, unbothered.

He seemed to be the only one.

…

The brothers—or more accurately, Dean—had abandoned me once again in favor of hitting one of the many local bars. Sam was elbow-deep in research, though he wouldn't tell me what for. Although he had offered to allow me to accompany him to visit the city records, I had declined. It was obvious that this was something Sam wanted to do alone and as curious as I was, I didn't want to intrude.

Staying in the motel didn't have an appeal though, for I was already beginning to feel a little claustrophobic. After being cooped up in the car, I was eager for some fresh air. Besides, as I sat alone in the room, I couldn't stop thinking about what would happen tonight.

I needed to escape this room for a while, if only to try to stop obsessing over sleeping arrangements. Aside from taking refuge on the floor, there really wasn't a way out of this. Of course, that option was thrown out because I had heard a few too many horror stories about the cleanliness of motel rooms.

Apart from that, I really didn't want to make a big deal about it. Dean seemed entirely unaffected by the idea, so there was no reason that I should be—even if I was worried about having a nightmare or possibly physically harming him in the night.

I really just needed to suck it up. I had been through far worse and there wasn't any point in dwelling on something I had no control over.

I rolled my eyes, knowing that even after acknowledging that, I wouldn't be able to help myself.

I slipped on my coat and grabbed my bag, pausing to write a quick note on a pad of paper next to the phone. Although I had a feeling that the brothers wouldn't be happy about me leaving the motel room by myself, I couldn't stay here.

At any rate, I knew I wouldn't really be any safer by keeping myself cooped up. Victoria could break down doors and ghosts could just flicker into existence at any possible moment. It didn't matter if I stayed here or not if someone came after me.

So with the feeling that my actions were justified, I left the room, trying not to appear bothered as the door clicked shut behind me. I didn't have a key and therefore wouldn't be able to get back in—at least, not until one of the brothers returned.

Even so, I wouldn't walk too far away from the motel. I might want fresh air, but I definitely didn't want to worry them. If they wanted to find me, it would be as easy as cruising around the corner.

I strolled down the street, taking in my surroundings. There were a few stores that I recognized, but I avoided them, more interested with continuing my walk. There were people milling in and out, just going about their daily business.

Although the area wasn't particularly quiet, I did find it calming. No one knew me here—I could've been a lamppost for all of the attention they paid me. After living in such a small town as Forks, it was nice to fade back into the background, as I had in Phoenix.

No one knew about my heartbreak or had witnessed my descent into despair. I could truly be invisible here. Lost in my own mind, I didn't notice the girl until her yell startled me from my thoughts.

The girl was short and lanky, with the hair to match. She couldn't be more than thirteen, and was currently being pulled by a dog nearly twice her size. The beast had quite obviously gained control of their speed and direction because even as the girl tried to stop him, he continued heading straight for me.

My eyes widened and I attempted to step back, but I wasn't quite quick enough. The dog didn't even pause as he rammed into my legs, causing me to fall like a stack of potatoes into a puddle of mud. The girl shouted back an apology, but was unable to do much else as her dog continued to barrel down the street.

I slowly pried myself up off the ground, blushing when I noticed the looks I was getting. My whole front was plastered with mud and I shivered as the damp material of my coat soaked into my skin. I pushed my hair out of my face, grimacing at the mud that I also found caked in there.

I was pretty sure that I looked like a complete wreck, but what was more troublesome was the increasingly dropping temperature. While I had been able to ignore the weather when I was all bundled up, I found that entirely too difficult with my coat now soaked.

I needed a change of clothes, but before I could walk more than a few feet, I remembered that I was still locked out of the motel room. I could've smacked myself at that point, beginning to regret heading off on my own.

I thought about finding Sam and asking him to let me back in, but I had no idea where he had gone. I knew he was looking into the city records, but there was no telling how long it would take me to locate him. Dean was also a lost cause for similar reasons, and because I doubted I would be allowed into the bar.

Besides, I was embarrassed by my clumsiness—even if my fall was more of the dog's fault than mine—and I had a feeling that Dean would tease me mercilessly if he saw me like this.

I sighed, chewing on my lip as I debated what to do. I glanced around my surroundings, hoping that a solution would jump out at me. My gaze paused on a small shop—one of those privately owned types of places that probably only carried one-of-a-kind items.

Although it didn't seem to be an actual clothing store, I did notice a few pieces in the window. I tucked my hair behind my ears—I suppose to make myself look more presentable—before quickly retreating into the store.

I sighed in relief as I was enveloped by warmth and carefully slid out of my coat to drape it over my arm. When I was certain that I wouldn't be dripping mud wherever I went, I moved further into the store.

"Welcome to the Treasure Trove," an old woman greeted me with a smile. "Feel free to look around. I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for," she added cheerfully, before returning to her book.

I nodded silently, my lips quirking upward in an attempt to smile back. It was difficult to muster the same level of enthusiasm, but I doubted that was entirely due to the mud.

I meandered through the shop, pausing to glance at a knick knack here or there. There was quite a variety of trinkets, many of which I didn't think I would classify as treasures. I moved onto the clothing, flipping through them in search of something to replace my jacket until I could get it dry and clean.

My hand paused on a red sweatshirt, my fingers appreciative of the soft material. Although it was a bit flashy for my tastes, it was plain and would obviously be comfortable. I pulled the item off the rack, returning to the front of the store.

The old woman looked up at the sound of my approach and set her book down with a smile.

"I see you've found what you were looking for," she smiled. "Good choice."

"Yeah," I muttered, unsure how to respond to that.

I handed her a twenty—I was glad that I had the presence of mind to grab the money I had stashed at home—and watched her ring up the purchase before folding the sweatshirt delicately and slipping it into a cloth bag. I raised an eyebrow at that, surprised that she hadn't used the same generic plastic bags that nearly every store did.

"Recycled bags. I think they add a nice touch," she grinned, noticing my look.

I nodded, though I couldn't help thinking that it was a waste, particularly since I planned to put my soiled coat in it once I left the store. I didn't tell her that though, not wanting to hurt her feelings. I would wash the bag out along with my coat once I returned to the motel room.

"Have a magical day!" she called to my back as I left the store.

Bag in hand, I walked down a block before pulling the sweatshirt out. I quickly slipped it on, glad to escape the biting wind. I smiled, noticing that it was as soft as I thought it would be. I stuffed my dirty coat into the bag and continued to walk down the street—this time, making sure that I wasn't close to any muddy puddles in case another dog decided to attack.

...

**Timeline:**

**March 4th — The Meadow Scene with Laurent**

**March 4th-7th — Spokane**

**March 7th — Kennewick**

**Keep in mind that once the brothers intervened with Laurent, the order of events for the rest of New Moon was thrown out of whack. Don't expect Alice to suddenly get a vision of Bella's death on whatever date she did in the book. I'm posting this timeline merely to show you how long Bella has been travelling with the brothers and where they have been so far.**


	10. The Red Hooded Figure: Part II

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><span>_"The Red-Hooded Figure"_

After another hour or so of wandering, I was sufficiently bored. I didn't know how long the brothers would be gone, but I hoped that one of them had returned by now. The invisibility I was previously grateful for was beginning to wear on me.

I think being alone had stopped being fun when I came across the local bookstore. I don't know what had prompted me to walk in—old habits or masochism—but when I found myself staring at my once beloved classics, I realized what a mistake it had been.

I practically staggered out of the store, as if the quickly resurfacing memories had given me whiplash. There was a reason why I didn't read anymore and I could feel my composure slipping as it made itself known once again.

I took off at a brisk walk, trying to push Edward from my mind. I needed to stop thinking about him if I was ever going to make it through this whole Victoria ordeal. As long as I was travelling with the brothers, I couldn't allow myself to fall back into my old ways. I couldn't afford to be numb right now, not when the potential to face any manner of supernatural creature was so high.

Thinking of the brothers and how weak I would seem to them if I allowed myself to fall to pieces, helped me bury the sadness. Several deep breaths later, I was feeling far more steady than before. With great effort, I relaxed my tense muscles and began to walk again.

After my near breakdown, the area had lost my interest and I only wanted to return to the motel room and the easy teasing of the brothers.

"What are you doing?"

I tensed, jerking my head in the direction of the disgruntled voice, but sighed with relief when I realized it was Dean. Despite having spent our first couple of hours in this town in a bar, he was sitting behind the wheel of his car, coaxing alongside me.

Noting the expression on his face, I rushed to answer his question.

"Um...I was just...going for a walk?"

I didn't mean to make it sound like a question. My reply seemed to annoy him further.

"What part of _do what we say_, did you not get?"

"Well, technically, you guys never told me to stay in the motel room..." I pointed out sheepishly.

Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation, but pulled to a stop.

"Get in, Miss Technicality," he grunted.

Not wanting to incur his wrath, I quickly walked around the other side and opened the door. When I tried to move into my seat, Dean stopped me.

"Sammy's not here. You don't have to ride in the back," he pointed out, raising an eyebrow as if he questioned my mental processes.

I blushed, but slid into the passenger seat. I winced when I accidently slammed the door and clenched my eyes shut, preparing myself for a long lecture about properly handling Dean's beloved car. My eyes shot open when I felt a sudden sting in my leg.

"Did you just flick me?" I demanded, my voice high from surprise.

"For slamming my door," he explained, keeping his eyes on the road.

"I didn't mean to, you know—"

I was cut off by another sting.

"Hey!"

Dean was smirking and I wanted to ask him what I had done to earn another flick, but decided against it. After all, one of us should probably be the adult in this situation and if the look on his face was any indication, I knew it would have to be me.

"Sorry," I muttered, buckling my seatbelt.

Dean's reply was another flick to my leg. This time, I managed to restrain myself from reacting verbally, though I did shift toward the window, moving as far away from him as possible.

"Don't do it again," he finally replied, still smirking.

I rolled my eyes at his childish behavior, choosing to remain pressed against the car door. Although it wasn't terribly comfortable, I was too stubborn to return to my original spot. I wasn't quite sure Dean had gotten it out of his system.

A few minutes passed in silence in which Dean continued to focus on the road and I stayed leaning heavily on the door. I glanced at the lock a few times and quietly pushed it down as I imagined accidently falling out of the car. Considering my luck, I knew it would be stupid to risk it. Even leaning against the locked door felt like tempting fate, but I was too stubborn to move back.

"That doesn't look very comfortable," Dean observed.

Although I didn't look at him, I could feel his gaze on the side of my face.

"I'm fine."

Another minute passed before he spoke again.

"I'm not going to do it again," Dean revealed in a mild tone.

"Okay," I replied, keeping my gaze resolutely directed out the window.

I jerked, squealing in surprise as I felt the pressure of Dean's finger poking into my side. Hitting a ticklish spot, I momentarily lost control of my body and fell over in my seat. I could feel a blush quickly rising in my cheeks as I pulled my face up from where it had landed on his arm.

Dean was laughing hard as I scooted back in my seat, trying to regain some composure. Neither of us said anything for a few minutes, though the silence was periodically broken by a random chuckle bubbling out of him.

"You're ticklish."

"No," I denied blithely.

"You are," he grinned.

"I'm not."

I could feel Dean's stare, but I refused to meet his gaze. I was embarrassed and confused by his playful behavior. Although Dean had cracked many jokes since I joined him and his brother, this was the first time he had messed with me physically. I began to wonder if maybe it was unsafe to be in the car with him at the moment, as he must have drank a little too much at the bar.

It was strange to have someone invade my personal space after going so long within my own buffer zone—one that no one dared cross, apart from Jacob. With him, it had been easy to write off his behavior as that of the brother I never had, but I didn't feel quite right applying that logic to Dean.

Perhaps it was the age difference, or maybe the fact that I didn't have memories of him making pies out of mud. I couldn't imagine Dean doing anything as childish as that, even when he was young. Although we hadn't known each other for long, he struck me as the kind of person who was forced to grow up too early.

Dean reminded me of one of those old hard-boiled detectives, always ready with a loaded gun and a sarcastic quip. I didn't know where I would fit in all that. I definitely wasn't a femme fatale. Maybe I was just the client, though that sounded a little sad in my opinion.

I was jarred from my thoughts by the sound of the door behind me.

"Find anything?" Dean asked.

I unbuckled my seatbelt, preparing to switch seats. When I glanced over my shoulder, Sam was already sliding into the backseat. Noticing my confusion, he offered me a smile and nodded at my seatbelt, indicating that I should put it back on. I was surprised, but I quickly refastened it as Dean pulled away from the curb.

"Not really. Some arsonists burned down a park three years ago, but that's about it," Sam replied. "Doesn't look like we'll find anything to hunt here."

Dean sighed, looking very put out by that.

"Might as well stop somewhere to eat then," Dean spoke, his tone slightly brighter at the prospect of food.

Although my appetite had taken a leave of absence back in Spokane—it was kind of hard to think about eating after learning what happened to those boys—it came back with a vengeance at Dean's words. Judging by how quickly the brothers jumped out of the car when we parked, I would say they felt the same.

I followed the brothers into the diner, offering a smile in thanks when Sam held the door open for me. I watched Dean stride over to one of the booths, his gaze surveying the restaurant with the kind of alertness that must have come from years of hunting. That, or maybe he was just really hungry and was hoping to spot a waitress.

I chuckled to myself at the thought and slid into the seat across from him. Dean quirked an eyebrow at my amusement, while Sam stared silently.

"What's so funny?"

Coughing, I shook my head. I kept my mouth covered with my hand, trying to quell my smile. I will admit that my mind had begun to run a little wild—I was now picturing Dean marrying a woman made of pie. There was no doubt that she would die not long after the union when her husband was particularly famished.

I could feel my face heat up as both brothers' attention shifted to me, waiting expectantly for an explanation. Thankfully, the waitress showed up just in time.

"I'm Sandy, I'll be your waitress tonight. Can I get you some drinks to start?" she asked tiredly.

Sandy's voice had the dull tone of a woman who was working long hours and probably hadn't slept much in the last decade. She had such pronounced bags under her eyes that they had become an essential part of her facial structure.

Lack of sleep and long shifts in a food establishment had made her hair limp and greasy. Her uniform was splattered with the evidence of her various food spills. She barely wrote a thing on her pad as we gave her our orders.

I imagined myself in her place, substituting her apron with a bright orange vest from Newton's Outfitters. I watched my life play out through her—from agonizing over Edward's absence to developing the kind of apathy that made it okay to waste away in Forks.

I shook my head, trying to escape those thoughts. That scenario sounded entirely too likely when I remembered my zombie phase. As much as I missed the numbness at times, I didn't want my life to turn out like Sandy the waitress.

…

"Is it really that good?" I asked, beginning to feel envious as Dean chewed his burger happily.

My own meal was pitiful. I grimaced at my baked potato as if it might sprout legs. I should have gotten something safer like Dean had.

"Not the best I've head," Dean paused to take another bite, chewing for a moment before continuing, "but pretty damn good."

I nodded, sighing as I resumed picking at my food.

"How's yours, Sam?"

"Fine."

Sam had been quiet since we picked him up. I would have thought that his mood had something to do with the city records, but he had already told us that he hadn't really found anything.

Dean didn't comment on Sam's silence, but I did notice him giving Sam these looks. Whatever was bothering Sam, Dean knew about it.

Admittedly, I was feeling a little left out. I tried to remind myself that just because they had taken me on the road with them, that didn't mean I was entitled to know their secrets.

I was curious though, and worried as Sam seemed to be withdrawing more and more. I hoped that my presence wasn't contributing to that, but I couldn't be sure.

I still didn't know all that much about the brothers. The conscientious part of me thought that I had done something very stupid—packing up and leaving with what were essentially two strangers. However, my gut told me to trust them, so I tried to push those thoughts aside.

"So how long have you two been hunting?" I asked.

This was my chance to learn more about them. We weren't investigating anything and we were playing the waiting game with Victoria. All we had right now was time on our hands.

The brothers exchanged a glance—as they were prone to do—but didn't answer. Neither brother seemed particularly willing to broach the subject. I didn't expect the question to bother them so much.

"Come on. Who am I going to tell?" I joked, growing uneasy from their silence.

I glanced at them, noting how Dean was quick to take a bite when my gaze landed on him. He shrugged at me, as if helpless to his own eating habits. I huffed, rolling my eyes at him. He smirked and continued to shove fries in his mouth in reply.

I was surprised when Sam spoke.

"Pretty much our entire lives."

I knew that the brothers must've been at this for some time, but I didn't expect that.

"Wow..." I breathed, trying to come up with a response to that. "That doesn't sound like a good environment for children," I thought aloud.

I winced the moment those words left my mouth. Dean's lips had thinned and Sam dropped his gaze to his food. I wanted to smack myself for being so stupid. Now that I thought about it, bringing up their childhood was a horrible idea, considering how likely it was that the person they lost was a family member.

It reinforced my theory about the journal. Despite being unable to get a close look, the journal was old enough to belong to someone from their childhood—maybe even a parent.

"No...it wasn't," Sam finally replied quietly.

I chewed on my lip, worried that I had really hurt them.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that," I apologized, softly.

"It is what it is," Dean finally spoke up, flinging one of his fries onto his plate. "Not all of us grow up like the Bradys."

I hadn't grown up like the Brady Bunch, but I decided not to point that out. Although I had spent most of my life taking care of both myself and Renee, that paled in comparison to what Sam and Dean's childhood must've been like.

I felt low and guilty for once thinking that my life had been hard.

The rest of the meal passed in mostly silence as I couldn't think of anything to say.

...

I trailed behind them, uneasy about our sleeping arrangements. Dean sat on one side of the bed, unlacing and removing his shoes. I blushed when he stood and took off his jeans as well. He barely glanced at me as he slid into bed, folding his arms behind his head. I marveled at how unaffected he seemed over this.

With a deep sigh that did little to relax me, I moved toward my bag and pulled out my pajamas. Although Dean wasn't bothered by undressing with an audience, I needed the privacy of the bathroom. I splashed water on my face once I finished changing, trying to calm myself down. I was aware that I was stalling, but given the circumstances, I felt justified.

After the tense meal at the diner, my apprehension about tonight had only grown. I felt awkward and unsure how to act around him. The fear of once again putting my foot in my mouth had grown along with my worries about which of my sleeping habits would make themselves known during the night.

With a heavy sigh, I flicked off the light and left the bathroom. Fumbling my way in the dark, I bit back a grunt as I stumbled into something before finally making contact with the bedspread.

I slid onto the bed, mindful of how much space remained between Dean and I. My arm wrapped around the edge of the mattress as I turned on my side, putting enough distance to keep our bodies from touching.

I blew out a breath, attempting to relax my tense muscles. When one of my legs accidentally nudged one of Dean's, I stiffened and quickly brought them closer to the edge.

"You know, I'm not gonna bite," Dean grumbled.

An unexpected snort slipped out, which I quickly stifled in my pillow. I had spent months sleeping beside a vampire and I had never worried about being bitten.

"So she _does_ have a sense of humor. Huh."

"What?"

"I was beginning to think you didn't know how to laugh."

"I've laughed," I protested, though I was finding it difficult to come up with an example.

Although I was still depressed about Edward, I thought I had gotten marginally better since those early days without him. If Dean had been privy to my zombie days, I'm sure he would see the improvement too.

My brows furrowed as I thought about how things would have played out if Laurent and the brothers had found me in the forest that night instead of the meadow months later. Would Sam and Dean have been so willing to take me with them, to protect me, had they seen how broken I was?

"Whatever you say, Sweet Cheeks," Dean chuckled.

I frowned, grateful that things had happened like they did.

...

I moved aimlessly through the forest. I had been searching for Edward for hours, it seemed. I was beginning to feel like he was a lost cause. As long as Edward didn't want to be found, I was certain that he would remain out of reach.

I paused as I reached a door in the middle of the forest, seemingly standing up on its own. It was a curious thing to find among the trees, but didn't appear as strange as it probably should have.

I stood poised to open the door, my hand raised halfway before it was abruptly opened on its own. I managed to side-step the swinging door, narrowly avoiding a collision. I stared into the room, hesitating for a moment before entering.

Mr. Denasy stood at the front of the room, leaning against his desk. I approached slowly, noting his blank expression even as I grew closer. Although I grew more uncomfortable as the distance between us lessened, my legs seemed to have a mind of their own.

I was supposed to be here. _They_ needed me to be here. There was something I was supposed to figure out and the key to that information laid in Mr. Denasy's hands.

I stopped a few feet away, finally gaining control of my legs. Mr. Denasy had remained stoic during my progress toward him, but once I stopped, he seemed to come to life.

He moved closer to where I stood, now rooted to the spot. I noticed that he wasn't quite so stoic anymore and suddenly, I wasn't just uncomfortable. I was _frightened_.

His hands reached out to grasp my arms, his touch feather light despite the twisted sneer on his face. Even with what I had come to know about him, the expression seemed odd there—the anger, ill-suited for his face.

His grip abruptly tightened, bordering on painful. I watched his face slowly morph into another who was much more adept at pulling off the hateful look—Joseph Clancy Jr.

I struggled, but to no avail. I whimpered in pain as terror gripped my heart.

_Can't escape, can't escape, can't escape_, ran through my head in a chant and I couldn't breathe.

He didn't say anything this time—just smiled that same sinister grin he wore when he threatened not to let me _enjoy it too_. Somehow...the silence was worse.

...

_Can't escape, can't escape, can't escape._

I thrashed against his hold, desperate to get away. A heavy weight kept me pressed down, restraining my movements. I sucked in a breath, determined to scream my lungs out for help, but was quickly muffled by a warm hand.

"Stop it, Bella! Just _calm down_," a familiar male voice grunted.

I paused in my struggle for a moment, blinking rapidly in an attempt to make out his face in the darkness.

"It's me—Dean," he rasped, removing his hand.

I sucked in a breath, feeling my tense muscles finally relax as my nightmare faded away. Reality replaced the haunting images and with it came the awareness of whose body had been restraining mine. I felt a blush heat my cheeks as I noticed the way Dean's torso pressed into mine, his upper body keeping me pinned while his hands held my wrists against the mattress.

"You can—you can let go now," I croaked.

Dean's hands remained for a moment longer, probably gauging my current coherence. When he was satisfied that I wouldn't start thrashing again, he released me.

My head fell back onto my pillow, my breathing still a bit shallow as the adrenaline caused by my nightmare began to wear off. I felt shaky and tense, unable to shake the horror of finding myself in the ghost's grasp once again.

I blinked away the tears that threatened to escape and became distinctly uncomfortable when I realized Dean hadn't laid back down. I shifted my gaze to him, sitting up nervously when I found his stare leveled on me.

"I'm sorry that I...woke you," I spoke softly, but I couldn't quite manage to keep the shakiness out of my voice.

I began to get worried when Dean didn't reply, simply continuing to stare at me. It was unnerving to be the focus of his attention and I was grateful for the cloak of darkness. His eyes must have become relatively keen in the dark after hunting monsters for so many years, but I hoped that he couldn't see my current state.

"I'll just...um..." my voice trailed off.

I didn't know what I had planned to say, but I couldn't bring myself to continue. My throat had begun to close up and my eyes suddenly felt watery. I didn't know why, but I couldn't seem to force down the emotions that so often plagued me after a nightmare.

I felt like I had been rubbed raw and I couldn't just...pretend. I couldn't bring myself to ignore my feelings, nor could I overlook the fact that Dean was still staring at me, almost like he understood.

I laid my head back onto the pillow and turned away from him, shifting closer to the edge of the mattress. I didn't want him to see me in this moment of weakness. I sniffed as quietly as I could, willing the tears to dissipate.

I tensed when I felt his hand on my arm, squeezing gently. The tears fell easily now and I sucked in a shuddering breath when I felt his hand move to my hair. He remained silent and as his fingers began running through the strands, I felt my body relax. I fell asleep to the gentle caress, wondering if there was more to Dean Winchester than a man hardened by the life of a Hunter.

...


	11. The Red Hooded Figure: Part III

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><span>_"The Red-Hooded Figure"_

When I awoke, the bed was empty. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Part of me was glad that he had spared me the embarrassment of what had happened last night. Another part was a little disappointed that he had disappeared before I could thank him.

I shook those thoughts away. It was better that he wasn't here. It gave me time to collect myself, not to mention that it saved me from the awkwardness of waking in the same bed, possibly needing to explain myself for my minor breakdown.

However, despite my relief, I was curious about where the brothers had gone. The room was quiet and Sam's bed was already made. I felt a little hurt at the realization that they must have gone to breakfast without me.

I sighed, rubbing my face tiredly. It was obvious that I was getting too attached to the brothers. I couldn't afford to feel hurt when they left me out—not when I knew how this would end. Eventually we would run into Victoria and once she was no longer a threat, they would dump me back in Forks, leaving me there to rot.

I slipped out of bed, pausing to straighten the covers before grabbing my stuff and retreating to the bathroom. The hot water felt amazing, though the pressure left much to be desired. I scrubbed away the salty residue of the tears on my face, sighing at the relief of being clean.

I got dressed in a simple shirt and jeans, confident that my new sweatshirt would keep the bruises on my neck hidden. They had faded a little more in the night and I hoped they would be gone in the next couple of days. I was already growing tired of wearing turtlenecks, feeling strangely claustrophobic as the material covered my neck.

I took my time drying my hair, grateful that the room was equipped with one of those miniature hairdryers attached to the wall. It took twice as long as a normal one, but at least it worked. Besides, I wasn't in a hurry and truthfully, I needed the distraction.

When I finished, I put my things away and walked back to the bed, perching myself on the edge. I glanced around the tiny room, contemplating what I could do until the brothers returned. Although Dean hadn't really said anything about my trip outside yesterday, I was wary about leaving without speaking to them first.

I knew we were kind of just laying low and biding our time here, but I wanted to know what their plans were for the day. If they were anything like yesterday, then I would probably try exploring the town again.

I puffed out a breath, frustrated that I had no way of contacting them. They must have had cell phones, considering their reaction when they found out I didn't. I should have asked for their numbers days ago, if only for emergencies.

Admittedly, my current predicament didn't fit that bill by any stretch of the imagination. I was just getting really bored and apart from watching television, there wasn't anything to do in here. If this were an airport, I would have already raided one of the stores for some brain teasers.

I groaned, falling back on the bed. I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, letting my mind wander. When thoughts of Forks and my life there inevitably resurfaced, I quickly sat up, determined to occupy myself by any means necessary.

I decided on cleaning the motel room. I knew that there were probably maids for this, but I needed something to keep me busy. I started with remaking the beds, focusing on smoothing out every wrinkle. I raised an eyebrow when I found a knife hidden under one of the pillows, shaking my head as I replaced it after.

I continued moving through the room, taking extra care as I cleaned everything, hoping to prolong the task. I paused when after straightening some of the brothers' clothes, I came across the journal I had noticed Dean flipping through.

I stared down at it, unable to deny my curiosity. Judging by the way Dean treated this book, it must be important. I knew it was wrong to even entertain the idea of looking through it. However, no matter how hard I tried to put it back down, I couldn't seem to let it go.

I was so bored and I had been dying to find out what was inside. Surely one quick peek wouldn't hurt anything and if I returned it before the brothers returned, they would never have to know.

I bit my lip, feeling extremely guilty as I carefully unfastened the strap and opened the journal. Now that I was looking through it, I noticed that the book seemed more like a collage of information than a journal. I flipped to a page at random that was scribbled with notes. There was a drawing in the middle of the words that looked like a tribal painting one might find on a cave wall.

_Wendigo  
>(evil that devours)<br>They're hundreds of years old. Each one was once a man that became a cannibal. Eating human flesh gave them abilities—speed, strength, immortality. Takes years for them to turn. They're always hungry._

_They hibernate for years at a time. They can last long winters by keeping their victims alive to feed off of when they're awake. They can imitate human voices to lure their prey. They can be killed with fire..._

I stopped reading, somewhat horrified to discover that something like this—this _Wendigo_, could exist. Vampires and ghosts were one thing, but this sounded a little farfetched. Wouldn't someone have noticed something like this running around?

It only took me a moment to realize how stupid that thought was. _Of course_ no one would really notice anything. I had learned that first hand with the Cullens, who had not only been able to attend school and have careers, but hunted in pretty much their own back yard. It had been easy to convince people that all of the human deaths were the cause of animal attacks too.

I flipped through a couple more pages, feeling my eyebrows raise higher with each entry. Many were familiar to me as the result of the numerous horror movies I had opted to watch to ensure the lack of memories of Edward. I wondered how much of the cinematic lore was true, when I came across something that made me pause.

_Crossroads Demon  
>They make deals with humans, granting whatever they wish for in exchange for their soul at a specific time in the future. They can be summoned by burying a container at the center of a crossroads with these items inside—your photograph, the bone of a black cat, and dirt from a graveyard. When the wisher's time runs out, the demon sends hellhounds to collect payment...<em>

I stared at the entry, too many thoughts running through my head to think straight. I was drawn out of my shock at the sound of something rustling outside the door. Panicked at the idea of being caught, I quickly put the journal back where I found it and hid in the bathroom, turning on the sink for good measure.

I listened to the door being unlocked, holding my breath as they entered.

"Bella?"

I bit my lip at the sound of Sam's voice, trying to calm down as I replied.

"In the bathroom!" I called, hoping I didn't sound as shaky as I felt.

"We brought breakfast," Sam replied.

His tone sounded pleasant and not remotely suspicious. I exhaled quietly in relief, taking the time to wash my hands before finally emerging from the bathroom. Sam offered me a smile, which I hesitantly returned. He gestured to the table behind him, indicating the bags and a big pink box that he must've placed there.

"We weren't sure what you'd want... We got some donuts, but if you want a breakfast burrito, help yourself."

My smile became a little forced as his kind actions made me feel even more guilty. I guess it turned out that they hadn't forgotten about me this morning. They were probably just letting me sleep in and they even went through the trouble of bringing me breakfast.

Meanwhile, I had thanked them by betrayed their trust while they were gone.

I was beginning to feel really low, but I tried not to let it show as I walked over to the table. As terrible as I felt for my actions, I had gotten something very valuable out of it—learning about the Crossroads Demon. The implications of what that information could do weren't lost on me, but I couldn't think about any of that now.

"Whoa. Was the maid here?"

I whipped around at the sound of Dean's voice, but quickly averted my gaze. Remembering what happened last night, I tried to focus my attention on sifting through the food they had brought. Although I felt uneasy, I was determined to eat enough to show that the brothers' kindness hadn't gone wasted—even if I had to force it down.

"No..." I answered, absently picking a sprinkled donut out of the box. I glanced up and upon noticing Dean's questioning look, I explained, "I...um...got bored."

"You didn't have to do all this, Bella," Sam reprimanded, though there wasn't any bite in his tone.

I looked down, beginning to grow a little embarrassed.

"Like I said...I got bored. It was nothing."

I took a bite out of my donut to busy myself. I watched Dean move over to the table and set down his bags before sifting through them for his own breakfast.

"Sorry we were gone for so long," Sam offered. My smile fell with what he said next. "Dean said you had a tough night, so we figured we'd let you sleep in."

I couldn't stop myself from glancing at Dean and noted how his gaze remained focused on his food. I averted mine after a moment, worried about the sudden tension I could feel between us. I should have known there would be some kind of backlash after what happened last night, regardless if he had been there when I woke up or not.

I continued to nibble on my donut, trying to ignore the awkwardness. Sam and Dean were eating their breakfast burritos, so it was oddly quiet in the room. I wondered if I was the only one feeling anxious about the silence. I swallowed, determined not let my uneasiness show.

"So...what's on the agenda for today?" I asked in as pleasant a tone as I could muster.

Dean wiped his mouth. "I dunno. There's nothing to hunt, so I guess we'll look around...get a feel for the local color."

"More like the local _talent_," Sam teased.

"That too," Dean smirked.

I grabbed another donut to focus on, beginning to grow uncomfortable with the conversation. I wanted to change the subject, but I wondered if my desperation would become too obvious if I did. I steeled myself to continue listening, absently plucking a bottle of lemonade out of one of the bags.

I unscrewed the cap and took a quick drink to wash down the food. I looked down at the lid in my hand, slowly turning it between my fingers. The brothers' banter began to fade away as I was suddenly struck with a sense of déjà-vu—an old memory I hadn't thought about in some time.

As I became lost in my thoughts, long and slender fingers replaced mine, spinning the lid on its side. I remembered Edward's crooked finger at lunch and my surprise that he wanted me to sit with him. He had been so distant and cold before then and I was so terribly confused.

Parts of our conversation filtered back in as I stared fixatedly at the bottle cap.

_I told you—I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up._

I clenched my jaw, willing the thoughts to stop. I knew it was pointless—the memory had already slipped through.

This was why I had spent all of those months shutdown, determined not to think, not to feel. The idea of forgetting Edward was terrifying, but the pain of actually remembering was _agonizing_. Without my carefully constructed walls of indifference, I couldn't keep the memories suppressed like they should be.

This memory of this random piece of one of our conversations made me think and that _hurt_. Edward had put so much effort into staying away from me before we got together—a fact that he made sure I was very aware of.

We probably never would have become an item if he hadn't given up—if I hadn't _worn him down_.

That thought made my heart twist painfully. Were my feelings so obvious, so persistent and _nagging_ that he just couldn't take it anymore? Did he only reciprocate to placate me? Was he hoping that I would eventually bore of him, thus allowing him to finally live in peace?

Of course, I hadn't gotten sick of him. I couldn't have had enough of him. He must have realized this and that was when his patience must have run out.

"Bella?"

I was startled out of my thoughts at the sound of my name. My gaze darted around the room, bouncing off each brother. They were both staring at me and I looked away, willing the burn from my eyes. I struggled to compose myself, hoping my voice didn't catch when I finally replied.

"What?"

My response came out a little shaky, but it was the best I could muster right now.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked, obviously concerned.

I swallowed, glancing down at the lid still clenched in my fist. I relaxed my hand.

"Yeah...just went down the wrong pipe," I lied, clearing my throat.

Between the speculative and knowing looks I was now getting from both of them, I knew my lie hadn't fooled anyone. I refocused my attention on eating my donut, though I had lost my appetite. I hoped they wouldn't call me out.

"We're heading out to look around. Did you want to tag along, or hang out here?" Sam asked.

I put down my donut on a nearby napkin, relieved and suddenly desperate to leave this hotel room.

"Sure."

I grabbed my new sweatshirt, sighing in relief when the soft fabric slid over my skin.

...

I felt a little odd strolling down the street with the brothers, listening to them bicker. Their banter was hardly new, but the companionship of the act was different. They didn't spend an inordinate amount of time trying to include me in the conversation, but I didn't feel alienated from them either.

This behavior strongly contrasted the Cullens who seemed to actively try to show that I was part of their family. They still argued amongst themselves like the brothers, but there was always this slightly staged tone to it. Their comments often revolved around my presence in some way, or were directed at Edward.

It was hardly surprising I supposed, considering that I was probably the most exciting thing to happen in decades. I didn't consider myself remarkable in the slightest, but the fact that one of them was dating a human was likely to pique their interest, especially since they kept to themselves most of the time.

A break in the monotony—that's what I was.

It was different with the brothers. To them, I was likely just another case—another person that needed saving. We might have been sharing close quarters, but they didn't feel the need to implement me in every facet of their lives.

Despite my disappointment when I thought I was being left behind this morning, I was actually grateful.

We barely knew each other and although it seemed as if I hadn't been in Forks in ages, we had only known each other for a few days. It would have been strange for the brothers and I to be any closer to each other than we were now.

We weren't best friends —we couldn't be after knowing each other so briefly—and their genuine behavior toward me was refreshing.

I was sick of people pretending. Jessica had latched onto me the moment I entered Forks, almost immediately treating me like her new best friend. The Cullens had acted as if I was one of their family. Jacob had broken his promise about abandoning me. Edward—well...he had _lied._

I shook those thoughts away, determined not to break down in public. I had already had a close call earlier—I really didn't need another. Realizing that I had begun to lag behind, I increased my pace, hoping that the brothers hadn't noticed.

"You _really_ need to pull that stick out of your ass."

"_Me?_" Sam asked in disbelief. "You're the one who has been acting weird all morning."

Dean shot a glance over his shoulder at me and I could feel my brows furrow in worry. Had my actions last night bothered him so much? Sam was right—he had been acting different today. I had expected it was my behavior last night that caused it, but it was different to see my thoughts seemingly confirmed.

"Whatever," he replied gruffly, dismissing his observation. "You really need to get laid."

I could feel myself blush, no matter how hard I tried to suppress it. Thankfully, I wasn't walking beside them. Unless they turned around, they wouldn't notice my reaction.

My relief was quickly thrown out the window when Sam glanced back at me, thus making my cheeks grow even hotter. I heard Dean snicker and resolutely kept my gaze drawn on my feet. At least this way, I was less likely to trip.

I swept my thumb across the inside of my sleeve, glad that I had so far managed to avoid any mishaps with my clothing today. I doubted I would be able to find another sweater as soft as this if I accidentally ruined it too.

Sam sighed deeply. "Is that all you think about? No, wait. Look who I'm talking to. _Of course_ that's all you think about."

"Can't help it if the ladies love me," Dean boasted and I imagined he was probably waggling his eyebrows at Sam too.

Despite my embarrassment, I couldn't stop a snort from slipping out. Was he really that egotistical?

"What's so funny?" Dean demanded, looking at me over his shoulder.

"Nothing. Just... Is it hard for you to fit through doors with such a big head?"

I bit my lip as his eyes widened at my comment. To be fair, I hadn't _actually_ meant to say that. Sam was chuckling now and I was beginning to worry that speaking had been a mistake when Dean's lips suddenly lifted into what could only be described as a _salacious_ smirk.

"Sometimes," Dean acknowledged. "Though this," he tapped his temple, "isn't the _head_ I have to worry about," he completed and I was actually able to see his eyebrows waggling this time.

There was a beat of silence in which I stared at him in disbelief. The implication was that he was..._well-endowed_ certainly made me blush, but the mental image he had painted was more disturbing than anything.

"Dude. That's just creepy," Sam commented, staring at his brother oddly. "Do you think before you speak?"

I cleared my throat when another snort slipped out, trying to remain composed. It didn't help that Sam had begun laughing and after a moment, I couldn't stop myself from snickering right along with him. Dean's eyes narrowed at us briefly, but he simply rolled his eyes in response.

We continued walking at a leisurely pace, the brothers pausing a few times to look inside some stores. I stayed outside for the most part, glad for some fresh air. I felt like I had been cooped up inside for much too long.

I was sitting on a bench outside one of the stores now, waiting for the brothers to finish. There didn't seem to be much for us to do around here, apart from our current activities. I took in my surroundings, pausing when I noticed a nearby park.

The park itself wasn't anything remarkable, but I found my interest piqued by the forest behind it. The area kind of reminded me of Forks and I had this inexplicable urge to slip among the trees. I rose from my bench with the thought that I could take a quick peek while the brothers were still busy, when my view of the forest was abruptly blocked.

I blinked rapidly, glancing up to find the brothers standing before me, each with a bag in their hands.

"Got some supplies," Sam explained, though I didn't ask. "We'll probably be here a few more days."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, since we're not drawing attention to ourselves, we don't really need to worry about getting the hell out of Dodge," Dean replied, chewing on some beef jerky. "Want one?"

I declined.

"Besides," he continued, taking another bite. "We've got to make sure the redhead has time to catch up with us."

I blinked again, suddenly more interested in the conversation.

"Why would she have trouble following us?" I asked, perplexed.

"She wouldn't," Sam interjected. "But it might have taken her some time to figure out what happened to Laurent and realize you're gone."

"Oh," I repeated, this time nodding in understanding. "Okay, that makes sense."

A thought occurred to me.

"But if she's following us... Won't she realize you guys are hunters? What if she decides to back off until I'm..." I paused, hoping what I said next wouldn't reveal my thoughts on the idea, "...alone?"

"Well, that's always a possibility," Sam consented, "but we're banking on her need for revenge to override her common sense. That's also why we're going to start keeping a closer eye on you."

"What do you mean?"

"One of us is going to be with you at all times," Sam explained, while I stared at him in surprise. "I know we haven't really been doing that so far," he sounded genuinely apologetic when he admitted this, "but that's because we knew it would take a few days for her to notice your absence from Forks and track you down."

Although I wasn't adverse to the idea—I didn't really like being alone these days—I felt a little undeserving of their time. I knew I was probably being a little ridiculous, but when he explained it like that, I couldn't help feeling that way.

"Are you sure it won't be too much trouble?" I asked, fearing that my company was being foisted upon them.

Dean rolled his eyes at me. "Not more than we're used to," he replied, slinging an arm over my shoulder as he steered us back down the street.

I could feel my heart hammering at the warmth of him pressed along my side, confused by his sudden closeness.

"Don't worry, it's our job," Sam added with a smile, walking alongside us.

I wondered if tucking me into their side was also part of their job.

...

I leaned against the headboard, trying to remain indifferent to the fact that Dean was doing the same beside me. Of course, I should have realized he would likely take his spot on our bed when he decided to recline, but I honestly hadn't thought about it when I sat down.

The closeness wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but I was unusually aware of our positions and proximity. I couldn't stop fidgeting, but I was also too stubborn to move. Dean seemed to be wholly unaffected, his gaze trained on the small television across the room.

I supposed my uneasiness was due in part to the larger amount of space I usually kept between myself and others. Although the last several months this tendency had more to do with distancing myself from everyone's stares, that behavior wasn't new.

I knew how uncomfortable it was to have someone invade your personal space and I had no desire to make anyone feel that way. Most of the time, it kind of surprised me that some people could be so unaware of themselves or uncaring when they didn't show that level of respect.

I wasn't annoyed with Dean like I sometimes felt when other people sat a bit close, but I was surprised. It made me think about how he draped his arm over my shoulders earlier and how he playfully poked me yesterday.

People didn't really joke around with me. Sure, the Cullens were witty and I was definitely no stranger to sarcasm, but apart from a few incidences with Edward—I stubbornly refused to let the memories surface at the moment—no one was really _playful_.

I supposed Jacob often did kind of behave like that—at least, before he stopped taking my calls—but it was different. He was younger and kind of immature most of the time, so it was hardly unexpected.

Dean, however, was a monster-hunting adult. I had watched him kill a vampire and take down a ghost. Of course, he had made jokes during both altercations with the supernatural, so I probably shouldn't have been surprised.

I sighed, annoyed with myself. Why did I have to over-analyze everything? Why I couldn't I just sit beside someone like a normal person?

I clasped my hands together in my lap, determined to stop fidgeting and try to think about something else. I thought back to earlier today, remembering what I had read in the journal. I felt the familiar guilty twist in my stomach, but I tried to ignore that at the moment.

I had nearly forgotten about my discoveries, having become distracted by the brothers and memories of Edward. I still couldn't believe that there were Wendigoes out there, but I was more astonished by the entry I had found about the Crossroads Demon.

Not only did demons exist, but they could apparently grant wishes. I had a fleeting thought that the idea of a genie might actually have been based on some wish-granting demons. More importantly—assuming the information was true—wishes were paid for with _souls_.

I had never been particularly religious, so when Edward had claimed he couldn't change me because he didn't want to condemn my soul, I had considered the argument ridiculous. Of course, now I expected that this had merely been an excuse because he didn't want to spend an eternity with me.

Truthfully, that same thought had occurred to me before he left too. That's not really what mattered at the moment, though. What bothered me was the realization that if souls did in fact exist, then that meant that his might actually be in danger.

If ghosts were real and demons bargained for souls, did that mean that Heaven and Hell existed too? There must be some sort of afterlife—the presence of Mrs. Clancy's dead son had shown me that. However, I found it difficult to think that any of the Cullens could deserve damnation.

Did becoming a vampire truly mar a person's soul? Could a soul even be damaged like that? Was there really someone up there passing judgment?

"That's obvious."

"What?" I asked, looking over at Dean in surprise.

"She's been sleeping with the guy's brother. _Of course_ it's his kid," Dean explained.

I stared at him in confusion. Dean glanced back at me, nodding at the television. I followed his gaze, rolling my eyes at myself when I realized he was talking about the soap opera that was currently on.

"You don't strike me as the type of person to watch soap operas," I commented, grimacing at the cheesy show.

At least the content was too ridiculous to cause me any pain, despite being primarily a romance-centered program.

"Dean likes to think of himself as a badass, but as you can see...that's not really the case," Sam snickered.

"Hey! I'm still a badass. I'm just secure in my masculinity, unlike _some _whiny bitches I know," Dean smirked. "Besides, there was nothing else on."

"Whatever you say," Sam replied, rolling his eyes.

I smiled at their exchange. The show might be boring, but at least their jibes were entertaining.

Dean suddenly groaned, swinging his legs off the side of the bed and grabbing the remote to shut off the television. I watched as he stretched, averting my gaze when his shirt rode up, exposing part of his back.

"Hungry?"

I glanced up, blushing when I found Dean's gaze leveled on me. It took me a moment to process what he had asked. My stomach clenched a bit at the mention of food, but I only shrugged in reply. Dean nodded, seemingly taking that as a confirmation.

"Come on, Point-Dexter. You can finish whatever you're doing later," Dean directed at Sam.

Sam sighed, but didn't protest, tapping a few keys and closing his laptop. I rose from the bed and followed the brothers as they exited the room, hoping we didn't get another Sandy for a waitress.

...

I take it back. Sandy was a much better waitress than this—I really couldn't think of a nice way to put it—ditz.

Not only had she brought me the wrong drink, but she had entirely forgotten to put my order in. I was now forced to wait even longer for them to actually prepare my dinner, while watching Sam and Dean eat.

Sam, ever the gentleman, had offered to wait for me, but I quickly waved off the idea. Although I appreciated the gesture, I didn't think he should have to suffer as well when it wasn't his fault my meal hadn't arrived on time.

No, the blame belonged to the woman currently preoccupied with throwing herself at Dean. In fact, our waitress had been flirting with Dean since the moment we walked in. It was why she had messed up my drink and forgotten my order.

I knew that was the reason because she hadn't exactly been subtle. Even while I spoke, her gaze slid over Dean, obviously not really listening. When I pointed out that she had brought me the wrong drink, her only response was an insincere apology as she rolled her eyes.

Although her interest was primarily in Dean, Sam was at least given the courtesy of her attention. It seemed that the only one she didn't care about was me.

What annoyed me the most was that through all of this, Dean hadn't once rejected her. He was flirting right along with her, his lips quirked into his customary smirk. I had the strongest urge to throw my cutlery at him when he winked at her as she sashayed back to the kitchens to finally put my order in.

I clenched my jaw, trying not to glare at my empty glass. Although she had brought me the Coke when I pointed out her mistake, she hadn't deigned to bring me a refill since. At this point, I was so angry that I didn't even want to ask.

I was drawn out of my thoughts when a glass of water slowly entered my field of vision. I blinked, looking up at the owner of the glass, noting the sympathetic smile on his face.

"You can have mine," Sam smiled.

"Are you sure?" I asked, not wanting to deprive him of his drink just because I had finished mine.

"I've still got half a beer," he smiled, gesturing to the bottle in his hand. "Besides, I'd probably have better luck getting a refill anyway," he joked, still retaining that sympathetic smile.

I tried to smile back, glad that at least I wasn't the only one to notice the neglectful treatment the waitress was giving me. I glanced at Dean, unsurprised to find his gaze trained across the restaurant while he practically inhaled his burger.

"What's that look for?"

Dean must have felt my gaze. I hadn't noticed him return it, nor had I realized I was glaring at him until he spoke. I blinked. If I wasn't already so frustrated over the waitress and her behavior, I probably would have been embarrassed over being caught.

"What?"

"You were glaring at me."

"No, I wasn't," I denied, glancing toward the kitchen.

Was I ever going to get my food? At this point, I was ready to start eating sugar packets.

"What's your problem?"

My gaze darted back over to Dean and I could feel my eyes widen incredulously.

"Are you kidding?" I wondered aloud.

Dean opened his mouth, but was promptly cut off as the waitress loudly dropped my plate in front of me. I was so hungry and annoyed at this point that I didn't even care anymore. I focused in on my burger, trying to ignore the pair as they continued to flirt.

I was surprised when the waitress—Jenny—retreated a few moments later. She had been hovering over our table all night, chatting with Dean. Honestly, it was amazing that no one had noticed and reprimanded her. I glanced up and felt my brows furrow when I saw Dean frowning down at this plate as he ate the last of his fries.

I looked over at Sam who only offered a shrug in response.

...

By the time we made it back to the motel room, I was feeling drained. While the majority of the day had been relatively pleasant—at least, no runaway dogs had managed to knock me down—dinner was unbelievably frustrating.

The brothers had been remarkably quiet since we left, though I tried not to dwell on the reasons for that. I wasn't feeling up to conversation myself, anyway.

I went through the process of getting ready for bed, this time settling in under the covers before Dean. I pulled myself to the edge much like I had last night, wrapping an arm around the side of the mattress to keep myself anchored there as I clenched my eyes shut.

...

I gasped, my eyes shooting open as I finally managed to escape my latest nightmare. I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my palms, trying to rub away the tears. I had been in the forest again, seeking out something that deep down I knew I wouldn't find. I wasn't even sure what I was looking for anymore and that frightened me more than anything.

Of course, that part of the nightmare was only the beginning. Eventually Mr. Denasy and Joseph Clancy Jr. decided to make their cameos, unwilling to leave me alone for even one night.

Why did my subconscious have to keep tormenting me like this? Weren't the _real_ horrors of my life enough?

A few minutes went by where I simply stared into the darkness, wondering how long I would have to endure this and whether I would ever go a night with uninterrupted sleep again.

I stiffened when, like last night, I suddenly felt a hand running through my hair. I was too tired to think about the owner of that hand or how I had once again woke him in the middle of the night with one of my nightmares.

I slowly relaxed into his touch, keeping my mind resolutely blank until I finally fell back asleep.

...

_**"I told you—I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up."  
>-Edward Cullen; Twilight pg. 88<strong>_


	12. The Red Hooded Figure: Part IV

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><em>"The Red-Hooded Figure"<em>

I opened my eyes when I felt the mattress dip and glanced sleepily beside me to see Dean climbing out of bed. He sat on the edge for a minute, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. I felt a little guilty, wondering if keeping to one side of the bed was uncomfortable for him.

I was used to moving quite a bit at night too. It was actually surprising that I hadn't accidentally invaded his space yet. I couldn't imagine how awkward that would be if I did.

I closed my eyes reflexively when he stood, not wanting him to know I was awake. I wondered why I felt the need to pretend as I listened to him move into the bathroom. I waited till the door shut and the water started running before I finally opened my eyes.

I glanced around the room, curiously noting that Sam was already absent. Where would he have headed off to so early? How long would he be gone? Did this mean that Dean was going to be babysitting me today?

I shook those thoughts away, particularly that last one. I knew that was essentially what they were doing—babysitting me—but I didn't want to think about it like that. It made me feel young and weak to need someone to watch over me.

I might not have lived for over a hundred years or hunted monsters my whole life, but I wasn't a child.

I sat up, pulling off the covers and slipping out of bed. Like yesterday, I paused to straighten the bedding before moving over to sift through my clothes. I was running low on clean things to wear and I knew I would need to find somewhere to wash my clothes eventually. I wondered if there was a Laundromat or something nearby.

I found another shirt and grabbed a pair of jeans. I glanced at the bathroom door, wondering if I would have enough time to change before Dean finished. He had only been in there for a few minutes, so I figured I could probably make it.

Sam, however, was another story. I had no idea how long he had been gone, nor when he would be back. I walked over to the door, glancing at the bathroom in uncertainty, before sliding the chain in place. This way if Sam did return, he wouldn't be able to walk in on me.

I moved back over to my clothes, quickly slipping my pajama pants off and putting on my jeans. I removed my shirt next, but froze when I heard the bathroom door suddenly swing open. I stood there, halfway reaching for the shirt I planned to wear today, too shocked to move.

Dean cleared his throat. "Oh...uh...sorry."

I listened to him retreat back into the bathroom, finally able to move when the door slid shut again. I quickly whipped my shirt on, blushing madly. I _knew_ I should have waited for him to finish in the bathroom. My only consolation was that I had at least had my back turned.

He hadn't really seen anything, but I couldn't quell my embarrassment no matter how hard I tried.

...

I sat in the middle of the bed, picking at a loose thread. The atmosphere in the room had been a little awkward since Dean emerged from the bathroom, though he hadn't said anything. In fact, I think his silence was the prime contributor to that feeling. There was also the fact that unlike yesterday, Dean had opted to recline on Sam's bed instead. I couldn't help feeling like I was the cause.

I sighed to myself, bored and a little disappointed that I had _this_ to look forward to for the next couple of hours. We had already eaten, so I couldn't use that as a way to kill time. I was really beginning to miss Sam. If he was here, then I would at least have the brothers' banter to listen to. Not to mention that Sam probably wouldn't feel the need to avoid me because _he_ hadn't been a part of that awkward moment earlier.

"You haven't met a Hunter before, have you?"

I glanced over at Dean, surprised that he had finally broken the silence, though I was a little confused by his question. Hadn't my shock been obvious when I first met them?

"No."

"But you said that someone killed the vampire that attacked you—Lestat's friend?"

"I—yes," I replied honestly, though I was beginning to worry about the direction his questions were taking.

"How the hell did he manage that?"

The feminine pride in me wanted to ask why he just assumed that my savior had been a male, but I was much too bothered by the conversation itself to do so. Why was he asking me this now?

"Because unless you've got a store of vampire venom, it's damn near impossible to take one of those fuckers down," Dean continued, his eyes suddenly narrowed in suspicion.

I could feel my heart race as I panicked. He was demanding all of these answers and while I wanted to just refuse to reply like I had before, I knew that wouldn't work now. Even I could see the determined set of his jaw.

I didn't know what he would do if I refused again. Would he convince Sam to take me home, leaving me behind to fend for myself? I didn't think he would, but then again, I hadn't really known him long enough to be certain. Although I had only been with them for four days and I knew I would have to return home eventually, I couldn't bear the thought of them abandoning me right now.

I couldn't betray the Cullens' trust, though. It didn't matter that they didn't want me anymore—I would _never_ tell anyone their secret. Still, how could I tell Dean the truth, without revealing too much?

"He lured me to this abandoned ballet studio—James," I said, the story unraveling as I spoke. "I knew it was a trap, but I thought he had my mom," I explained.

I took a deep breath, keeping my gaze averted.

"They—they followed me," I said quietly.

"Who followed you?"

"They knew something was wrong," I continued, steeling myself to answer his question in the only way I knew how. "My b-boyfriend," I winced at the word, "and his family."

I took another deep breath.

"I don't remember much. I was in too much pain near the end. James had broken a few of my bones before they got there," I explained honestly. "They set fire to the building and I guess he burned before he could escape."

"But you did," Dean commented.

"Yeah. E-Edward saved me."

I winced as his name slipped out, instantly regretful for mentioning it. Not only was it still hurtful to say, but I needed to remember that this was a _Hunter_ I was talking to. If I wasn't careful, I could put Edward and his family in danger.

"So how come he wasn't there to do the same with Lestat?" Dean wondered.

"He...he left."

I clenched my eyes shut, swallowing the lump in my throat. I shouldn't have said anything. Now Dean would probably treat me like everyone else had, like the heartbroken shell of a girl I had become.

"Here."

I looked up at the feel of something cold against my hands, shocked to find Dean standing before me, extending a bottle of beer.

"I'm underage," I said, glancing up at him with furrowed brows.

Dean shrugged, placing the bottle on the table beside me. He picked up his own and took a seat on Sam's bed, facing me.

"You're old enough to face vampires and ghosts. I think you're old enough for a drink, don't you?"

I bit my lip, still uncertain. Despite the general assumption that authority figures raised rule-breaking children, I had never really been interested in alcohol. Charlie would have killed me if I had been caught, but Renee had given me a few sips of wine on occasion.

On the other hand, I also knew that Edward would probably disapprove and much like riding motorcycles had, this thought pleased me.

Besides, Dean was right. Why shouldn't I have a drink? I had spent the last year surviving so many things—vampires, car accidents, rapists, heartbreak, homicidal ghosts—and who knew what would happen when Victoria finally made her move?

She could snap my neck on the way to the bathroom and I would die never having participated in something so normal and reckless as drinking. I was always so aware of myself and what I said, but right now all I really wanted to do was _let go_.

I knew I would probably regret it later, but I picked up that beer bottle, determined to act my age and stop thinking about the consequences. I clinked my bottle with Dean's as he raised it in cheers, returning his smirk with a genuine smile for once.

...

"Better?" Dean asked as I took a sip of my third beer.

I shrugged in reply. While I didn't really think I liked the taste of beer, it had become more tolerable after the first. I supposed that the pleasantly calm feeling now running through limbs also made drinking it easier.

"I feel...calm."

"Yeah, it'll do that."

My brows furrowed. "I'm not usually this calm," I pointed out, though I didn't know why I felt the need to do so.

"I've noticed," Dean laughed.

I frowned for a moment, wondering if I should be insulted by that. I decided that I wasn't.

"Do you ever wish you were normal?" I asked suddenly.

Dean looked thrown by my question. He also looked like he didn't wanted to answer.

"Sometimes," he admitted reluctantly.

"Don't. I'm normal. Being normal is boring."

He laughed at that.

"I wouldn't call you normal."

"No..." I consented, realizing that _normal_ had been a poor choice of words. I was too strange to be considered as such. "I'm not. But I'm boring."

I sighed, taking another drink of my beer. It wasn't long before I finished and began nursing on my fourth. I had lost track of how many Dean had consumed long ago. My thoughts drifted back to yesterday and suddenly I was giggling.

"What?" Dean asked.

"You—You said—" I broke off with another giggle, "—and the door...big head..."

I tapped my temple, trying to imitate the gesture and the smirk he had been wearing when he did it. I still couldn't believe he had said that. Remembering the look on his face just made me laugh harder. I leaned forward, resting my forehead against my knees as I tried to calm down.

When I finally managed to collect myself enough to stop giggling, I sat back up. I pressed my lips together, worried I might have a relapse when I looked at Dean's face. The image was still rather fresh in my mind, after all.

"You look happy," Dean commented.

"I feel...happy," I admitted, my brows furrowing when I realized this. "That's weird."

"Why's it weird?"

"I'm not happy," I replied, shaking my head. "I'll never be happy. Not again."

Dean was giving me a strange look now.

"That's kind of sad, isn't it?" I thought aloud.

Dean wasn't talking. Why wasn't he talking? I watched him, staring at his face as I took a large gulp of my beer.

"Are you happy?" I asked.

He just stared at me for a moment. I didn't think he was going to answer.

"I don't know," he replied, much to my surprise.

I felt my brows furrow as I leaned forward, pointing a finger at him.

"You should be happy," I said in as serious a tone as I could muster.

"And you should smile more," Dean countered.

I could feel my lips curling into a grin even as I replied.

"I think I've forgotten how."

...

When I awoke it was with a bad taste in my mouth and a deep feeling of warmth wrapped around me. I opened my eyes and froze, realizing that the warmth was coming from Dean, who had his arms wrapped around me.

Embarrassingly enough, my arms were wrapped around him too and I was close enough to feel his breath on my face. I stared at him with wide eyes, wondering how we had ended up like this.

I thought back to before I had fallen asleep, distinctly remembering eventually climbing into bed, though I couldn't quite recall when Dean must have joined me. I should have known my lack of mishaps like this couldn't last.

_At least he's still asleep_, I thought.

I extracted my limbs from around him, breathing a sigh of relief when he didn't stir. I looked down at the arm draped over my waist, slowly trying to remove it. I panicked when I heard the door being unlocked and glanced up at Dean, tensing when I realized his eyes were open.

His expression remained blank, although I'm sure mine was quite shocked. I couldn't imagine what he was thinking, waking to find us tangled together with my hand on his arm.

I winced when the chain jerked loudly as Sam tried to open the door. During my embarrassment over being caught half-dressed, I had forgotten all about adding that extra bit of security to the door. Dean quirked an eyebrow at me, but otherwise didn't comment as he slowly untangled himself and walked over to the door to remove the chain.

I sat up quickly, trying to smooth out my hair and clothes.

"What was that for?" Sam asked, when he entered.

I was relieved when Dean only shrugged. That incident, as well as this more recent one, had both been embarrassing enough with just us. I tried to smile when Sam glanced at me, but I don't think I was very successful. Thankfully, he chose not to comment.

As much as I still missed the Cullens, it was nice to be around people who didn't feel the need to know everything. Between a seer, an empath, and a mind reader, it was awfully difficult to keep anything from them.

Still, I knew that the brothers didn't need supernatural gifts to be able to notice the bright blush on my cheeks.

"I brought dinner," Sam announced and that was when I noticed the take-out bags in his hands.

Unfortunately, that was also when Sam noticed all of the empty beer bottles.

"You gave her alcohol?" Sam demanded, glaring at his brother in disbelief.

"We were bored," Dean shrugged.

"So watch T.V. or something! I can't believe you—"

"I'm an adult," I pointed out quietly, though I don't think either of them heard me.

"What? You might like living with a stick up your ass all the time, but that doesn't mean the rest of us can't have fun," Dean grumbled.

"You've done some pretty shitty things, but giving beer to a kid—"

"I am _not_ a child," I interrupted, my jaw clenched. "I've almost died more times than I can count and I've got _another_ vampire hunting me. I'm old enough to handle a couple drinks."

I grabbed my red sweatshirt, quickly jerking it over my head. I stomped over to the door and pulled it open, pausing for a moment.

"I'm going for a walk," I said, closing the door behind me before I heard a reply.

...

I paced around the motel, angry but also aware that it wasn't safe for me to walk too far away from the room. I knew Sam hadn't deserved my outburst, but I was just _so sick_ of being treated like a child.

Everyone thought they knew what was best for me. Charlie thought I should move back in with Renee. People at school thought I should get on with my life and stop being heartbroken.

No, _everyone_ thought I should get on with my life.

Admittedly, the worst culprit of all had been Edward—always so determined to keep me safe. He hadn't let me do_ anything_ that was remotely dangerous. He had also decided when we were over and when it was time for me to stop loving him.

Well, I _hadn't_. I was heartbroken, _damn it_, and I would grieve over Edward for as long as I wanted.

I was in charge of my physical and emotional wellbeing. If I wanted to ride motorcycles, drink alcohol, and love the people who had abandoned me, then I would. No one could tell me what to do or what not to do and they certainly couldn't tell me how to feel.

I took a deep breath and my steps gradually slowed. I felt oddly relieved to get all of that off my chest, even if it had only been in my own thoughts. I spent a few more minutes just breathing in the fresh air, before deciding to return to the room. I glanced back at some nearby trees, oddly wistful as I walked away.

...

I knocked on the door, stuffing my hands into my sweatshirt as I waited. I hadn't realized how cold it was when I stormed out and although my torso was kept warm by my newest article of clothing, the rest of my body wasn't quite as sufficiently protected from the elements.

I smiled nervously when the door opened, not really surprised when I saw Sam. He stepped back to let me walk passed and I waited for him to finish shutting and locking the door before I spoke.

"I'm sorry for going off on you before. It's just..." I furrowed my brows, trying to think of how to explain my behavior without giving too much away. "People have a tendency to try to run my life," I explained, astonished despite myself for how true that statement really felt, "and I guess it's kind of a sore spot for me."

Sam rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"It's my fault... I shouldn't have gotten mad about it. I mean, it's not like Dean and I didn't do our share of underage drinking."

"Remember that time we swiped a bottle of Bobby's scotch?" Dean interjected with a nostalgic smile.

"Yeah, you got sick and puked on one of Bobby's first editions," Sam pointed out, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

"Good times," Dean sighed happily.

...

Things were kind of tense for a while, despite Sam and I having come to an understanding. I still felt a little guilty for taking out my frustration on him, but I didn't regret it. Considering the relief I felt afterward, I knew now that it had really needed to be said.

Sam, for his part, didn't seem to hold any antagonism toward me. Despite his emphatic reaction earlier, he was actually pretty easygoing most of the time. I remembered how he had given me his water last night when the waitress was neglecting me and felt my smile become a little more genuine.

Of course, tonight's dinner was infinitely better than that train wreck of a meal. Secluded in our motel room, I didn't have to rely on the Jenny's of the world to stop flirting long enough to remember that I existed.

No, as I sat in our motel room eating and watching the brothers bicker between—and in Dean's case, _during_—bites, I realized that I was feeling more content than I had in a long time.

...

In retrospect, I probably should have thought this out a bit more.

Sam, Dean, and I were currently getting ready for bed as we had finished dinner hours ago and the television had long since forgone playing anything remotely entertaining. Normally, this might not have been a problem, except that I couldn't stop thinking about the last time Dean and I had shared a bed and what that had entailed.

I couldn't stop blushing no matter how hard I tried, easily able to recall how close we had been and the weight of his arm wrapped around me. My cheeks grew even hotter when I remembered how one of his legs had been thrown over mine—a fact that I had overlooked at the time.

Dean and I hadn't gotten a chance to discuss what had happened, as we were quite obviously preoccupied with Sam's return and the subsequent argument. Truthfully, I didn't really want to broach that subject, but I couldn't help feeling like I should apologize for my subconsciously affectionate limbs.

Although he hadn't seemed bothered at the time—during that brief uninterrupted moment before he got up to open the door for Sam—I was worried that I might have made him uncomfortable.

"Bella."

My gaze snapped up from where it had been trained on the carpet and I froze when it fell on Dean, who was staring right at me. He was already under the covers—unquestionably situated on _his_ side of the bed—and nodded at mine expectantly.

I glanced at the bathroom door, noting that Sam was still behind it and brushing his teeth, from the sound of it. I looked back at Dean and deciding that this was the time to act like the adult I claimed to be, I took a deep, determined breath.

"Um...about earlier..." I trailed off, staring upwards as I tried to put my thoughts into words. "I'm...sorry."

I met Dean's gaze nervously. His eyebrows had raised, but his face was otherwise blank.

"Why are you sorry?" he asked finally.

"For making you uncomfortable," I explained quickly, unable to stop as the rest spilled from my mouth, "I'm used to sleeping with these big pillows...and I'm kind of surprised this hasn't happened before...because I can't really help it..."

I knew I was babbling and I could feel my blush only getting worse, but I pressed on.

"Anyway, I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable," I repeated.

I exhaled loudly, relieved to have gotten that conversation over with. Nodding to myself, I finally finished stowing my stuff away—which I had only been sifting through to put off facing Dean—and quickly slipped into my side of the bed.

...


	13. The Red Hooded Figure: Part V

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><span>_"The Red-Hooded Figure"_

Sam and I looked up when the door flew open, obviously surprised to see Dean back so soon. He had only been gone an hour and it was my understanding that he wouldn't return until nightfall. I expected that he must have been sick of being cooped up in this motel room after remaining here yesterday.

Truthfully, I was beginning to feel a little antsy myself. I had been debating whether to slip on my new sweatshirt and see if Sam wanted to go for a walk for the last ten minutes, actually.

"All hands on deck," Dean announced.

I looked over to Sam, wondering if he would be able to shed some light on whatever Dean was talking about. Judging by the blank look on his face, he was just as confused as I was.

Dean rolled his eyes. "A girl was found mauled to death in a house with locked doors," Dean explained.

"That's...odd," I replied, uncertain how to take something like that.

"And right up our alley."

"We'd better look into it," Sam agreed, standing.

I watched the brothers get ready, wondering if the supernatural followed them much like it seemed to follow me, or if things like this just happened all the time. As much as I disliked being labeled a _danger magnet_, the latter was far more disconcerting.

...

"I'm Agent Hamill and this is Agent Ford," Sam introduced, flashing a badge at the man.

"And this is our intern, Miss Fisher," Dean added , barely suppressing a smirk.

"We're from the U.S. Wildlife Service."

I nearly rolled my eyes at being introduced as their intern again, but managed to restrain myself. At least this time I wasn't embarrassingly underdressed. I supposed that being a member of the Wildlife Service negated the need for professional attire. Still, I made a mental note to buy something more formal to wear in the future.

"About time you guys showed up," the mortician remarked, before turning to, presumably, lead us to the body.

I followed a step behind Sam and Dean, curious to see how they would handle this case. In Spokane, I had been too nervous to appreciate their methods. Although I wasn't exactly comfortable now—I didn't want to think about what would happen if we got caught—I didn't feel as anxious.

I wasn't sure if that was because I trusted the brothers a bit more now or if I was just getting used to the whole idea, but I counted myself lucky. At least they hadn't tried to leave me in the motel room like they had in Spokane. I guessed they must have really meant it when they said that one of them would be with me at all times.

Watching the brothers stride purposefully behind the mortician as if they had every right to be here, I began to feel envious.

I wished I had that kind of confidence. I could still remember the look of disappointment on Dean's face when I failed to show it outside that bar in Spokane. I looked down at my clothes, feeling the soft material of my sweatshirt.

I had the sudden urge to leave—to slip away while their backs were turned. I could backtrack and walk out the main entrance without anyone saying a word.

Dean glanced back then, meeting my eyes and offering a wink.

I blushed, but smiled back, shaking away my thoughts of escape. I could do this. I could pretend to be their intern, Miss Fisher, much like I had in Spokane as Miss Sullivan.

"I've got to warn you guys...it isn't pretty," the mortician cautioned, his gaze resting on me. "Miss Fisher, you might want to wait outside."

I stared at the man, slightly incredulous. Although I knew I hadn't seen nearly as much carnage as the brothers had, I was insulted that he had singled me out. I knew that the girl's corpse probably wouldn't be pretty, but I wanted to prove that I could handle this.

I wanted to be able to adopt aliases as quickly and as confidently as the brothers. I was tired of being coddled by everyone, especially after everything that I had been through. I had dealt with vampires, ghosts, and the terrible corpse of a child, but I was still _here_.

I hadn't snapped or run away, so why was I constantly being treated like I was weak?

I could feel the anger boiling up much like it had when Sam had referred to me as a child. Again, I was surprised by the intensity of it, but I knew I couldn't stop it from bursting forth like before. I opened my mouth to tell the man off, when Dean spoke first.

"Miss Fisher will be fine," Dean replied. I might have been imagining the hard tone of his voice. "Show us the body."

The mortician didn't look convinced, but shrugged and stepped forward to pull open one of the morgue drawers. I tried not to look shocked by Dean's words, lest he change his mind and decide to follow the mortician's advice. I felt Sam's gaze and when I turned toward him, he offered me an understanding smile.

I nodded back, though I was a little embarrassed that he had noticed my near-outburst.

I watched the mortician pull the drawer out, realizing that I was about to see a corpse and unlike Derek Denasy, there would be quite a bit more than just bones. I held my breath as the mortician slid the sheet down.

There wasn't much blood—a fact that I was extremely thankful for right now. The body must have been cleaned so that the victim's wounds became easier to identify. I was suddenly grateful that we hadn't eaten yet.

The girl's torso was barely recognizable, marred with deep gashes. One claw mark started on her left cheek and stretched down to her chin. It was strange not to see blood spilling out of a wound so deep and fresh.

There were several more scratches on the girl's face and her blonde curls were still a bit matted with dried blood. I quickly shifted my gaze from her face, trying to distract myself from the sight of blood.

"Have you managed to I.D. the victim, yet?" Sam asked, seemingly unaffected by the gruesome sight.

There was a subtle shift in his eyes that somehow made me doubt that, though.

"Her name was Sally Johnson."

"Know anything else about her?" Dean asked. "What about family?"

"She was nineteen and she was homeless. I don't know if she had any family, but no one's come to claim her or anything."

"How did you know her name?" Sam asked.

The mortician rubbed the back of his neck, nervously. "I've patched her up a few times."

I couldn't stop staring at Sally. She was only a year older than me, but she looked so much younger—and smaller. Her death had been painful and she must have been so scared. The sight of this girl dead on a slab, seemingly forgotten, was terrible.

"So now that you've had a chance to look at the body, what do you think?" the mortician asked.

I was bothered by the note of excitement in his voice.

"Definitely not the work of the household dog," Dean remarked, surveying the wounds.

I glanced at the body again, noting the deep and long gashes. Whatever did this must have been big and strong, not to mention vicious.

"This looks like a bear attack," Sam observed.

"Exactly! But she was found inside the Karins' house with no sign of a forced entry. Definitely no sign of a bear. Nuts, huh?"

"Yeah, nuts," Sam agreed quietly.

...

"So...what was it really?" I asked once we were in the car and safe from anyone who might've been eavesdropping.

"I don't know..." Sam admitted. "The marks look like they did come from a bear, but..."

"But what would a bear be doing in someone's house?" Dean finished, raising an eyebrow. "Stealing pic-a-nic baskets?"

"Are there any monsters out there that are capable of making wounds like that?" I asked, thinking about that _Wendigo_ creature I had read about in the journal. "And breaking in without...breaking in?" I finished lamely.

"Something that's capable of both? I don't know..." Sam replied.

"We need to take a look at where she was found and talk to the family that lives there," Dean remarked.

...

"It was terrible," Mrs. Karins said, her gaze unintentionally slipping toward the kitchen, before she pulled it back.

"Maybe you should start from the beginning," Sam advised with a sympathetic look. I wondered if his concern was just part of his character, or if it came naturally. I thought it was probably a little of both.

"And try not to leave anything out," Dean added.

"Well, we decided to go out for a family dinner," Mrs. Karins began. "Poor Timothy—that's our son—has been feeling a little neglected, I think," she mused.

I glanced at the collection of family photos hanging on the walls, noting the little boy who was present in nearly all of them.

"Anyway, when we got home, we found our furniture in shambles. We thought someone was robbing us, but nothing was missing. And then..."

"And then...?"

"We—We found her. In the kitchen. The poor thing..."

"Poor thing?" I repeated, surprised.

Sally's death was terrible, but I couldn't believe that Mrs. Karins would be so forgiving. The girl had broken in and presumably trashed her home.

"She was obviously hungry. There were empty soup cans all over the counter," Mrs. Karins explained, sadly. "I would have gladly given her them if she had asked."

She seemed genuine. I was beginning to feel guilty for expecting the worst of this woman. I thought my interactions with the mothers in Spokane might have been coloring my view of her. I needed to remember that just because _they_ had been a part of the plot, didn't mean that victims like Mrs. Karins were too.

"There was so much blood..." Mrs. Karins spoke quietly. "I can't imagine what attacked her. I don't want to think about what could've happened if—if we had come home sooner."

She looked like she felt guilty for that last comment, but I couldn't hold it against her. Being home when that thing—whatever it was—attacked, probably wouldn't have made a difference, except in the body count.

...

The brothers and I searched high and low, but we couldn't find any evidence that someone had forced their way in, much less that a gigantic animal had torn its way inside. All of the doors and windows were intact. In fact, the only sign of a violent entry laid in the broken furniture in the living room and, oddly enough, in the son's bedroom.

"This doesn't make sense," I murmured, staring at the broken chair in the boy's room. "Why would she come up here if she was looking for food?"

"Hell, why would she tear up the place?" Dean added.

"Maybe she was looking for something else?" Sam wondered.

"In the kid's room?" Dean asked, disbelievingly.

Sam shrugged, obviously not putting much faith in that theory.

"She was a homeless girl looking for food, right?" I thought aloud. "And she was found in the kitchen, making soup. Unless she paused in her search to eat...?"

"I think that whatever killed her did this," Sam replied, gesturing at the broken chair. "Although, I can't think of a reason."

Dean pulled his hand down his face roughly, obviously frustrated at the lack of answers.

"Well, it's got to be something that goes bump in the night, right?" Dean confirmed. "A human couldn't do that kind of damage."

...

I sat in a booth with Sam and Dean, listening to them discuss this latest case while we waited for our food. I stayed mostly silent, unable to contribute much. I was beginning to regret not learning more about the occult when I had been researching vampires. I made a mental note to do so the next time I was stuck in the motel room without anything to do.

"How do you guys come up with your aliases?" I asked, particularly curious about my own. "Why Miss Fisher?"

Dean's frown—which he had been sporting since we left the Karins' house—slowly turned into a smirk.

"Come on..." he urged, leaning forward. "Ford and Hamill? You've got to see the connection."

I bit my lip in thought, but after a few moments, I was still coming up blank. When I could only shrug in reply, Dean's smirk fell into a grimace of disappointment.

"It's from Star Wars," Sam explained helpfully. "Mark Hamill played Luke Skywalker and Harrison Ford played Han Solo."

"I was never really into Star Wars," I admitted, sheepishly.

Although I wasn't particularly interested in the series, I knew how devoted the fans could be. Judging by the look on Dean's face, he was one of them.

"Who _isn't_ into _Star Wars_?" Dean asked in disbelief.

I shrugged again. "I don't know... Renee—my mom—was never really into the sci-fi stuff."

"What about your friends?"

"I...um...didn't really have any," I admitted.

It was true—I hadn't had many friends in Phoenix. Sure, I had talked to people in school, but we hadn't hung out or anything outside of class. I had managed to fade into the background most of the time. Besides, Renee was often more excitement than I could handle. I preferred reading quietly in my room, anyway.

"So... Miss Fisher? What character did she play?" I asked, hoping the brothers wouldn't think about what I had revealed too much.

"Princess Leia... You _at least_ know who she is, right?" Dean asked.

"Um..." I furrowed my brows, trying to draw up everything I knew about the series. "Didn't she kiss her brother or something?" I asked, wrinkling my nose at the thought.

"Yeah..." Sam grimaced. "To be fair, she didn't know he was her brother at the time."

"I guess... That's still kind of disturbing, though," I pointed out.

"Eh," Dean waved away my comment. "Creepy or not, she still looked killer in that slave outfit," he said, waggling his eyebrows.

"Of course you'd say that," Sam sighed.

I rolled my eyes, but I might have been smiling a bit too.

"So, Miss Bookworm... If you don't like Star Wars and you don't like music, then what _do_ you like?" Dean asked.

I thought for a moment. "Well, I used to read a lot of Austen and Bronte."

"Of course," Dean grumbled, while Sam asked, "What was your favorite?"

"Wuthering Heights," I answered. "Though, I really don't read much these days..."

"Gave that up when you stopped listening to music too?" Dean teased.

"Yep," I replied curtly.

I really didn't want to talk about this anymore. I didn't want to draw attention to all of the things I had stopped doing once Edward left, lest they decide to ask me for a reason. I was grateful when the waiter emerged with our food, satisfied that the conversation was over now that everyone's mouths were full.

...

"I just don't get it," Dean groaned, tossing the journal down on Sam's bed. "All signs point to Yogi going rabid, but there's no way a bear got in and out of there. And there's nothing in here," Dean added, gesturing at the journal.

"_When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth_," I recited.

"What?"

"Sherlock Holmes," Sam identified with a grin. "You like Doyle?" he asked, his smile turning hopeful.

"Who _isn't_ into Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes?" I asked, smirking as I paraphrased what Dean had said about _Star Wars_ earlier.

Dean definitely noticed.

"Nerds," he muttered, shooting a glare my way.

"What was your favorite story?" I asked Sam, ignoring Dean.

"It's hard to pick just one..." Sam admitted. "I really liked the Baskerville stories... What about you?"

"It really is hard to choose," I agreed. "But I was always fascinated by _A Scandal in Bohemia_."

"Because of the Woman?" Sam asked.

I nodded, though I was beginning to rethink my answer. I wasn't lying when I said that story had always stuck with me. The subtle potential for romance with someone so cold and calculated had definitely been intriguing, but now that I had experienced heartbreak for myself, I was beginning to think that Sherlock Holmes might have had the right idea.

People couldn't hurt you if you didn't let them in.

"Are you two done geeking out?" Dean sighed in exasperation.

"Geeking out?" Sam repeated in disbelief. "You were the one talking about Star Wars earlier."

"Star Wars is a classic," Dean argued.

"Doesn't it make it any less geeky," Sam pointed out.

"_You_ like Star Wars!"

"Yeah, but according to you, I'm also a nerd, so..."

"Oh, shut up."

I watched them argue, trying not to laugh.

"I wonder which one of you would be Holmes and which one would be Watson..." I thought aloud.

"That's easy. _He's_ Watson," Dean proclaimed, jerking a thumb toward his brother.

"_Me_?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, you. You're definitely the sidekick."

"I am _not_ your sidekick."

"I wouldn't call Watson a sidekick anyway," I pointed out, feeling the need to defend one of my favorite fictional characters. "He's more of a partner."

"Sick," Dean grimaced. "You know we're brothers, right?"

"_Dean_, you idiot! She wasn't calling them romantic partners," Sam sighed, exasperated. "They worked together. They were just good friends."

"Whatever you say..." Dean almost-sang, raising his eyebrows.

I shook my head in amazement at the direction this conversation had taken.

...

I quietly closed the door behind me, trying not to further disturb Sam or Dean. They were both still doing research for the case, and I'll admit that I was impressed by their level of focus. Although their methods might come across as half-hazard at first, it was obvious that they put quite a bit of work into their job.

My range of knowledge was still disappointingly lacking and since Sam currently needed his laptop for research, I couldn't really help out. Although I had found small ways to be useful, I was feeling distinctly left out.

Neither brother had protested when I mentioned my need for some fresh air, though they did insist that I remain close. It was dangerous to be out in the dark alone, but the brothers still expected that Victoria would take her time in cornering me.

Although I was grateful that they had granted me this brief respite from their constant vigilance, I hoped that they were right about Victoria. She was probably fast enough to grab me and run long before the brothers realized I was gone.

If I hadn't been so desperate to escape that motel room, I wouldn't have chosen to tempt fate by making myself an easier target.

I took a deep breath, relishing the fresh air. I felt like I could stay out here forever. In fact, the urge to take a walk was rather strong, though I knew how dangerous that would be. I shook my head and took another breath, before returning inside.

...

I took my time getting ready for bed, strangely exhausted. Perhaps I was feeling drained by the lack of answers—I didn't know. It was obvious that Dean was beginning to get antsy by the lack of a breakthrough, though.

I slipped into bed beside him, watching him rub his face roughly in the corner of my eye. I wanted to say something reassuring, but the words wouldn't come. I didn't think anything would comfort him short of the murderer's head on platter.

It was strange to watch the brothers hunt again. Although I had initially been glad for the reprieve after Spokane, I had to admit that I felt relieved to have a problem to focus on. Thinking about Sally's death, as sad as it had been, served as a nice distraction from my own feelings.

I didn't really have time to worry about Edward or Victoria—not with a bear on the loose.

...

"Bella?"

I opened my eyes slowly, peering blearily up at the face beside me. I quickly sat up, surprised to see both brothers beginning to get dressed. A glance at the window showed that it was still very dark outside.

"What's going on?" I mumbled sleepily.

"There's been another death," Dean explained quietly.

I sat up quickly, suddenly not quite as grateful for this distraction.

...

**Sam and Dean used Hamill and Ford as their aliases in "Dead in the Water" (Season 1, episode 3). **

**I have created a banner, more artwork, and a playlist for this story. The links can be found on my profile.**


	14. The Red Hooded Figure: Part VI

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><span>_"The Red-Hooded Figure"_

I trailed behind the brothers as we entered the crime scene, trying not to appear too nervous. The place was swarming with officers and I was beginning to feel paranoid that someone might recognize me. I didn't know the extent Charlie might have gone to locate me. I hoped that he was still focusing on Los Angeles, where the Cullens were thought to have moved.

I watched the brothers flash their badges at an officer, but otherwise tried to remain in the background. I tried to stay focused as they gathered information.

"The victim's name was Tom Addleston."

"Does anyone else live here?" Sam asked.

The officer shook his head. "A forty-eight year old bachelor."

"So, what happened? Where's the body?"

The officer lead us into the living room and I gasped.

Lying in the middle of the floor was presumably the late Tom Addleston, though it was difficult to tell with the way his face had been gnawed off. He looked more like pound hamburger than a man. His arms and legs were covered in bite marks too, as well as chunks of flesh missing in some places.

There was blood _everywhere_.

I covered my mouth, turning away as a rush of dizziness made me sway. The sounds around me were fading in and out as I closed my eyes, trying not to faint. I vaguely registered the feeling of a hand on my arm, which I gratefully allowed to tow me away.

I wasn't surprised when I ended up in the backseat of the Impala, though I certainly didn't expect to see Dean when I finally opened my eyes. I took several deep breaths, staring up at Dean as he waited for me to calm down.

"Sorry," I apologized absently, feeling embarrassed that I had nearly fainted in the middle of a crime scene, but unable to get the sight of Tom Addleston's mangled face out of my head.

So much for not drawing attention to myself. I cringed as Dean opened his mouth, preparing myself for the inevitable teasing.

"Don't worry about it," Dean said instead, surprising me again. "Not everyone has the stomach for seeing something like that."

I thought about how neither Sam nor Dean had reacted. At least, I didn't think they had. Then again, I had been a little too preoccupied trying not to pass out to watch them. A few minutes passed by in silence as I composed myself.

"There's something that I don't get though," Dean admitted. "You seemed fine when we checked out Sally's body. So, why the sudden freak-out?"

"I don't like blood," I confessed. "It makes me sick."

"Huh." 

I glanced up at him, noting his raised eyebrows. I wondered what he was thinking about.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just kind of ironic that the girl who hates blood is being hunted by vampires," Dean smirked.

I laughed uneasily, trying not to think about how he'd react if he found out I had dated one.

...

I cradled my cup of coffee, sending a silent thank you to whoever had come up with the idea of a twenty-four hour diner. I took a large gulp, grateful for the caffeine. Judging by the near blissful look on Sam and Dean's faces, I would say that they were feeling the same. I stifled a yawn, blinking my eyes rapidly to banish the last remnants of sleep.

"There's no way a bear made those marks. The bites and scratches are too small," Sam was saying.

"So that means there's something else out there chompin' on people. Great," Dean bit sarcastically.

"Something that doesn't leave a trace either," Sam added.

"I know the bear thing is impossible..." I said slowly. "But in Tom's case, couldn't something small get in and out? Like a rat?" I asked.

"I wondered the same thing," Sam sighed. "But it would take a massive amount to do that kind of damage."

"He could've had an infestation?" Dean suggested, shrugging.

"Highly unlikely. The guy worked for a pest control company."

"That's ironic," I murmured, swallowing down more coffee.

I smiled when Sandy the waitress stopped by to refill our mugs and leaned forward to grab more creamer.

"Maybe the rats were getting revenge," Dean remarked, swiping the bowl of creamer before I could reach it.

I glared at him, watching him smirk as he slowly added one to his own cup.

"Yeah, revenge." Sam rolled his eyes. "And maybe the bear had a grudge against Sally."

I glanced purposefully at an approaching waitress and watched Dean's attention drift to her as she sashayed by. I used the opportunity to quickly take the bowl back and grinned in triumph at Dean's glare when he realized. It might have been childish, but I was too tired to put up with his shenanigans.

"Maybe you two should share the creamer like good children," Sam suggested, raising an eyebrow at our antics.

"Sorry, Sam. I'll blame this on being half-delirious from lack of sleep," I replied, trailing off in a yawn.

Despite having that nap with Dean while we were drinking yesterday, I was oddly tired. I expected that had more to do with my emotional state after talking about Edward and taking out my frustration on Sam. Being woken up in the middle of the night to check out a corpse certainly hadn't helped.

"It's okay, Bella," Sam smiled. "Too bad Dean can't use that excuse... He's always been immature."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You call it being immature. I call it being fun," he smirked, waggling his eyebrows at me.

"Jerk," Sam muttered.

"Bitch," Dean countered.

I snickered quietly, trying to hide my amusement behind my cup as I took a generous drink.

...

When we returned to Tom Addleston's house, all of the officers were gone. The place had become eerily still and if I hadn't known better, I wouldn't have thought anything was amiss.

I followed the brothers as they ducked under the police's caution tape, wondering what we would find. Considering what had happened when we broke into the houses in Spokane, I thought I was ready for anything.

"Let's look for any signs of those rats," Sam advised, kneeling down on the floor as he pressed his ear to the living room wall. "Maybe I missed something."

I helped the brothers search, checking every nook and cranny. There didn't seem to be anything to find though—not even droppings. If I didn't already know better, I would never have expected that a bunch of rats had run through here.

I could tell that the brothers were growing frustrated as our searching continued to reveal nothing about how or why Tom Addleston had died.

"Was anything taken with the body?" Dean asked after we had reconvened in the living room.

I tried not to stare at the blood stains on the floor.

"I didn't see anything, but there might've been something on him that we didn't see?" Sam thought aloud.

"Maybe we should take another trip to the morgue," Dean replied. "Doesn't look like we're gonna find anything here."

...

We were in the morgue once more, though we were viewing an entirely different body this time. I kept my gaze averted, not needing to see Tom Addleston's corpse again. My subconscious already had enough material for my nightmares. I wanted to prove that I could handle this, but I didn't need to torture myself.

"Do you have his personal effects? Anything that was found with the body?" Sam asked.

"Everything I've got is in this box," the mortician said, presenting Sam with said box.

"Thanks, mind giving us a moment?"

The mortician shrugged, but left the room. I peered into the box as Sam and Dean snapped on some rubber gloves and began sifting through the items.

"One pair of bloody pants with a matching shirt," Dean murmured. "Car keys, cell phone...eureka!"

"What'd you find?" Sam asked.

"A bloody...flute?" Sam raised an eyebrow, but Dean just waved him off. "Okay, so I don't know what instrument it is. Honestly, if it isn't a guitar or a set of drums, I don't care."

Sam rolled his eyes, but allowed Dean to continue.

"Look at these markings engraved on it," Dean pointed out and I moved closer to get a better look. "The guy might've had his face gnawed off by rats, but _this_ was the cause."

"How can that," I nodded at the instrument, "cause _that_?" I asked, gesturing back at Tom Addleston's corpse.

"Because it's cursed," Dean grinned, obviously excited over figuring something out.

"_Cursed_?" I repeated in disbelief. "Curses exist?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Of course curses exist. That shouldn't surprise you after meeting vampires and ghosts."

"I guess not..." I conceded, though I was still a little shocked. "So does this mean that Sally was cursed too?" I wondered.

"That's where it gets tricky," Sam admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "Not all cursed objects are so easy to identify. And Sally was homeless, so..."

"So she probably didn't have much," I surmised. "Wouldn't that narrow it down, then?" I wondered.

"We need to talk to someone that knew her," Dean reasoned. "Homeless or not, their deaths were too similar not to be linked."

...

I approached the front of the line nervously, feeling awkward. Sam and Dean seemed to be doing just fine, which I really envied at the moment. I could feel several gazes on my back, likely wondering what I was doing in a place like this.

Since Sally Johnson was homeless and didn't have a family, there were few places to look for people who knew her. Aside from asking random people on the street, there were the usual suspects—homeless shelters and soup kitchens.

We were currently in a soup kitchen that Sally apparently frequented. The source of my anxiety laid in the fact that we had just cut in front of a rather large line for food.

"I'll have the tomato bisque," Dean announced, his cocky grin firmly in place.

"I'm sorry?" the brunette behind the counter replied, surveying the three of us. "There's no cutting allowed here." Her eyes narrowed. "I also think you're in the wrong place."

"We're with the U.S. Wildlife Service," Sam explained, quickly cutting off what was bound to be another sarcastic comment from Dean. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, if you have time."

"I'm sorry, but there are a lot of hungry people here and you're holding up the line," she replied politely.

"It concerns Sally Johnson's death."

It took a moment for recognition to flare in the woman's eyes, but when it did, her polite smile swiftly fell.

"Alright. Let me...let me just find someone to cover for me," she sighed, removing her gloves.

Dean leaned back against the counter and I glanced behind us, noting the looks we were getting.

"Don't worry, someone will be back to serve you folks soon," Dean announced.

...

"I didn't know Sally had died," the woman sighed sadly. "What happened?"

"She was the victim of an animal attack," Sam explained as gently as he could. "What's your name?"

The woman dabbed her eyes with a tissue. "Anna Felsing."

"Anna, when was the last time you saw Sally Johnson?" Sam asked.

"She was here just a few days ago."

"Did you notice anything different about her?"

"What does it matter?" Anna asked in confusion. "I thought you said she was attacked by an animal."

"She was—we've just got to cover all our bases," Dean explained, hurriedly. "Did Sally seem strange the last time you saw her? Maybe she did things she normally wouldn't, or she started carrying something you hadn't seen before?"

Anna stared at us oddly. "No, I didn't notice anything," she admitted. "She wasn't any different than usual and she never carried more than the clothes on her back."

I frowned, wondering how we could possibly find the object that cursed Sally if she only had her clothes. Sam and Dean had already looked through her things before we left the morgue, but none of it seemed out of the ordinary. Although I knew she was homeless, there must have been _something_.

"Anna, how well did you know Sally Johnson?" Dean asked.

"Not well. No one really did. Though, I think I knew her better than most," Anna mused.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Gol—_Sally_ had this...disorder. It was never diagnosed or anything because she didn't have the money for a proper doctor, but I think it was OCD? Anyway, she was always really particular about things."

"What things?" I asked curiously.

"She always had to step inside places with her left foot first, even though she was right-handed," Anna explained with a smile. "Things like that."

"So what made you think you were closest to her?"

"Well, she always had me serve her. Sally had all of these rules for herself, but above all, the food she ate was the most important."

"Why do you think she singled you out?" Sam asked.

"We get a lot of volunteers here...and they're all really nice for the most part, but..." she trailed off, hesitant.

"But?" Dean prompted.

"But no one else was really willing to put up with her rules for food. She wouldn't eat unless it was just right. And I _mean_ that. I've watched her go days without eating just because her soup was a little cold, or a little too hot."

"Damn. That's insane," Dean muttered, raising his eyebrows.

Considering what I had witnessed of Dean's eating habits so far, I was hardly surprised that he would think so.

"No it's not," Anna glared at Dean. "It was a mental illness. She couldn't help it anymore than we can stop breathing."

Dean held up his hands in defense.

"He didn't mean anything by that," Sam apologized, trying to placate her. "We just can't imagine how hard that must have been for her to go through."

"She made do. She was a good kid, except..."

"Except what?"

"Well... I guess there's no point in keeping it a secret anymore, since she's gone," Anna sighed. "Her thing about food... You can imagine how hard it must have been for her to find something to eat that fit her criteria."

Anna paused, wiping her nose.

"I was worried about her, so I followed her one night," Anna began. "I couldn't take her in or anything, but I thought maybe I could make her something to eat at home once in a while."

I stared at Anna—a pretty brunette in her late twenties who was so willing to help a girl she barely knew—and wondered why there weren't more people out there like her. I was amazed by her level of generosity.

"Anyway, it turns out that she was stealing food. She'd watch a house for days, learn where they kept the key and when it was empty."

"Then she'd sneak in and fix herself something to eat?" Dean finished.

Anna nodded. "She told me she never took anything but food, and I believed her."

"She convinced you not to turn her in," Sam deduced.

"She was just hungry," Anna defended. "I couldn't turn her in when she was just hungry and desperate. I tried to give her an alternative though."

"She didn't want it though, did she?" I asked.

"No," Anna agreed, quirking a smile despite the renewed tears in her eyes. "She didn't want to take advantage of my hospitality," she laughed sadly. "Poor Goldie..."

"Goldie?"

"Oh, sorry. That's our nickname for her...because of her gold curls," Anna explained. "I almost didn't know who you were talking about when you called her Sally."

I glanced at Sam, noting the sudden gleam in his eye.

"Thank you for your time," Sam said quickly, urging us out the door.

...

"What, Sam? What are you suddenly so excited about?" Dean grumbled when we returned to the car.

"They called her Goldie... Don't you get it?" Sam asked. "Sally's name was _Goldie_ and she was mauled by a _bear_."

"The little boy's chair!" I exclaimed, suddenly realizing where he was going with this as all of the details we learned about Sally began to make sense.

"Yes!" Sam grinned.

"Now neither of you are making sense."

Sam huffed in exasperation. "You know, a little girl sneaks into a house and sits in all of the chairs. She tries three different bowls of porridge, but won't eat two of them because they're too hot or cold?"

Dean continued to stare at Sam as if he had lost his mind.

"Goldilocks and the three bears," I explained.

"Everyone knows that fairytale," Sam said, gesturing to me.

"Goldilocks and the three bears," Dean repeated, rolling his eyes. "Come on, Sam. Fairytales? _Really_?"

"Why not?" Sam asked. "It wouldn't be any crazier than anything else we've seen."

Dean didn't look convinced quite yet, but seemed ready to humor us. I couldn't help thinking he was being a bit of a hypocrite. Hadn't he once told me that pretty much everything was real? Why then, did he have such a problem believing that someone could be recreating fairytales?

I didn't think the idea sounded all that farfetched, not after Spokane. If Kelly Tanner could force mothers to kill their children, why couldn't someone else be doing something similar here? I didn't know how someone could exercise that kind of control of bears or rats, but I was trying to keep an open mind.

"And the rats? Come on, fairytale boy. What story has a flute and some rats?"

"The Pied Piper?" I wondered aloud, unable to think of anything else that fit that criteria.

"The story is a little off, but I think you might be right," Sam replied.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"The Pied Piper supposedly went town to town, getting paid to use his pipe to lure the rats away. But one town decided not to pay, so the Pied Piper decided to use his pipe to lure their children away in revenge."

"Well, I definitely don't remember Goldilocks getting eaten by the bears either, so maybe whoever's doing this isn't concerned with accuracy," Dean pointed out.

"What's the point?" I wondered. "I mean, why kill these people? Why make them live out these horrible fairytales?" I asked, disgusted by the idea of someone targeting these people like this.

The brothers were quiet for a moment.

"People don't always need a reason to be sadistic," Dean eventually replied.

...

"The flute was obviously responsible for Addleston's death, but what about Goldie?" Dean muttered.

"I don't know," Sam groaned, slamming his head on the table.

I chewed on my fingernail, pacing slowly around the motel room as the brothers tried to figure things out. It seemed that every time one question was answered, a million more replaced it—like slicing the head off of a hydra.

Sally's role as Goldilocks was obvious, but she didn't have _anything_ on her, much less something that was cursed. I supposed that she could have hidden something somewhere, though I knew it would probably be a miracle if we ever found it.

"Could Sally have hidden the object somewhere?" I asked anyway, just to have something to say.

Dean rubbed his face tiredly. "The object would've been close to her when she died," he explained, his tone exasperated.

"Maybe it got lost in the debris at the Karins' place?" I offered.

"There are too many maybes," Dean grumbled. "We need to figure this out before someone else gets the ax."

"Do you think that's going to happen? That they're just going to keep killing people?" I asked quietly.

"They usually do," Dean sighed. "Until we stop them."

I continued to pace around in silence, trying not to think about how high the stakes really were. Amidst all of the brothers' jokes, it was easy to forget that there were actual lives on the line—that this wasn't just an interesting riddle to be solved.

"It's getting close to dark," Sam remarked, glancing toward the window. "I don't know what time the shops close, but we still need to see if we can trace where Tom might've gotten the flute."

"Do you think he bought it here?" I asked in surprise, thinking about how calm the town had seemed only days earlier.

To think that someone could be selling cursed objects to unsuspecting people...

"He might've," Sam shrugged. "Sally might've even stole something too, despite what Anna said."

I wanted to believe what Anna had said about Sally, but I had to concede Sam's point. If the girl was staking out houses to steal food, it wasn't entirely farfetched that she might take other things too.

"There's a local music store we should check out."

"We'll go to the music store," Dean offered, nodding toward me.

I was surprised that he wanted me to take me with him. I guessed if Sam was meant to watch me yesterday, then today it must be Dean's turn. I tried not to feel disappointed that he only wanted me to come along because of that.

"Alright," Sam agreed easily. "I think I'll take another look at Tom's house and maybe stop by the Karins' house again."

I quickly slipped on my sweatshirt and followed the brothers out to the car, sliding into the backseat. I stared outside the window, watching the trees as we drove passed. It took Dean's gruff voice to pull me out of my daze—I hadn't realized we had stopped.

"If I find a single scratch on her when you come pick us up, your ass is grass," Dean was threatening Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Have I ever brought her back scratched?"

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You drove my baby through a _house_."

"You drove into a _house_?" I blinked, incredulously.

"A ghost was trying to _stop my heart_. I didn't have time to worry about scratching the paintjob," Sam defended.

Dean's eyes remained narrowed, but he didn't comment as we got out and Sam moved into the driver's seat. I watched Sam mock salute before pulling away and turned to Dean.

"So...the music store?"

Dean rubbed his chin and puffed out a sigh.

"Yeah."

...

The first music store we visited—the one Sam had dropped us off at—proved to be a waste of time. While the place did have a variety of instruments, they were all pretty standard. Dean and I still spent an inordinate amount of time searching the place, hoping to find something out of the ordinary.

Once Dean was convinced that the place had nothing to offer, we made our way to one of the other local music stores. This one sold albums and movies as well, which they unfortunately thought was a good idea to showcase through their new speakers.

I tried not to listen for the most part, though I couldn't seem to ignore all of it. One particular song almost maybe me tear up as I listened to the woman lament the loss of the man she loved. I shoved the hurt down deep, determined to keep it together. I was pulled out of my thoughts when Dean nudged my arm.

"Come on," he said. "Doesn't look like we're going to find anything here."

I nodded quickly, glad that I wouldn't have to endure anymore of this.

...

I followed Dean into the last music store on our list, chewing my lip in worry. This was the last place for us to look, so if we didn't find anything here, that meant that Tom Addleston hadn't bought his flute locally. I didn't know how good Sam and Dean's computer hacking skills were, but I knew learning that the flute had been purchased online would make this case so much harder. After all, Sally didn't have access to the internet, nor the funds to shop online.

There were instruments hanging on the walls, organized by type. Dean and I walked right over to the section with the woodwinds, checking to see if any of them looked out of the ordinary. While the brothers didn't think we would find another cursed flute, it was important to check if there were any recently vacant spots where Tom Addleston's flute might've been.

"Doesn't look like anything is missing here," Dean sighed. "Let's split up and check the rest."

"Okay," I agreed, moving to another section.

I studied each of the instruments on my side carefully, trying to make out any strange symbols like there were on Tom Addleston's flute. Sam and Dean had warned me not to touch anything when we learned there were cursed objects at play, in case I got sucked into my own fairytale nightmare.

When I reached the end of yet another section and still hadn't managed to get any results, I sighed in exasperation. I glanced around the shop, pausing when I finally spotted Dean near the front of the store.

Instead of looking through the instruments on the other side of the store, Dean was leaning against the front counter, chatting with the perky cashier. Even from this distance, it was easy to notice the signs. While I was busy trying to help solve this case, Dean was flirting with the locals.

I clenched my jaw, feeling the same anger and frustration I had felt when I was being ignored by Jenny the waitress. While last time it was my dinner that was neglected because of Dean's flirting, this time was so much worse.

There were people's lives at stake. He should be more focused on finding another cursed object than trying to get a number.

I stared at them for another moment, the urge to yell at him for being so _stupid_ growing. There was another urge though, one that quickly overpowered it.

I turned around and stalked over to the door, wrenching it open. I heard the bell jingle behind me, but I didn't look back as I stomped down the street, my steps growing lighter as my pace increased. Suddenly, I was running, feeling the icy air whip across my face.

I stepped off the sidewalk without much thought, quickly changing direction toward the trees. I slipped between the large trunks, not slowing even as the branches became a little thicker. I didn't stop until my lungs ached and I leaned forward, resting my hands on my knees.

I took deep breaths in an effort to calm down. I straightened after a few minutes when I heard the distinct crack of a branch behind me, suddenly realizing how foolish this had been.

I whipped around and gasped at the sight of someone I hadn't seen in what seemed like forever and certainly never expected to find here. Standing a feet away was none other than Jacob Black.

"Bella?"

...

**This story takes place in roughly Season 3 of Supernatural. There will be some differences and I will definitely be taking liberties. Considering that this story takes place from Bella's point of view and she knows little to nothing about Sam and Dean's past, I'm going to leave it at that. You'll learn what she learns.**

**I loved the episode "Bedtime Stories" but this will take the place of that, since they have a similar plotline. As for Lilith and Ruby, I've yet to make a decision about their role in this story.**

**Finally, the anniversary of this story is tomorrow. I considered postponing this chapter until then, but I couldn't resist updating now. Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has stuck with this since the beginning, as well as those who have joined more recently.**

**This story is easily my favorite, so I'm really excited to see this through.**


	15. The Red Hooded Figure: Part VII

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><span>_"The Red-Hooded Figure"_

"Jacob?" I breathed in astonishment.

If not for his voice—which had grown deeper and had a distinct hard edge—I might not have recognized him. Gone was his long dark hair, which had been cropped short. His cheeks had lost their roundness, revealing sharpened features that looked almost harsh in the dimming light.

His spurt of growth in height had once made him seem lanky and a little gawky, but he now had the broad shoulders and thick arms to match. Despite the chilly weather, he was only wearing shorts, leaving his chest and feet bare. His hair—what little was left—was messy and his skin was covered in dirt, but he was otherwise unscathed.

He looked like he had aged years since I last saw him and for one frightening moment, I wondered if it had been that long—if time had simply moved differently while travelling with the brothers.

I shook that thought away, continuing to stare at this version of the Jacob I had once called my personal sun. He wasn't that anymore—not in appearance nor stature—and the most striking difference between this Jacob and mine, were his tight lips and even tighter, cold eyes.

"What happened to you?" I choked out, nearly frozen in the presence of his icy stare.

"What happened to _me_?" he repeated, incredulously. "What happened to _you_?"

I thought of everything that had happened since I left Forks and the circumstances under which I had departed. I couldn't tell Jacob what I had been through since the last time I had seen him. Remembering all of those worried calls that I had made and the increasingly cold response I had gained from Billy and himself, I realized that I didn't want to.

Sometimes, when Jacob and I were hanging out while he worked on our motorcycles, I almost wanted to confide in him, to finally have someone to talk to about everything that had happened to me, just to have someone remind me that it had all been real. Recalling his treatment and his _abandonment _before I left, I realized that I _didn't want to_—not anymore.

My anger, which had dissipated somewhat in the shock of Jacob's presence, quickly returned.

"What do _you_ care?"

Jacob glared at me.

"You left without a word to anyone. Just that stupid note."

From the look on his face, I could tell that he had read my note to Charlie. That note was private and I couldn't picture Charlie spreading it around. The thought of Jacob intruding on my privacy like that only fueled my anger.

"Again, I don't see what that matters to _you_," I glared right back. "You made it clear that you don't give a crap about me."

Jacob strode forward suddenly, his large hands wrapping around my arms tightly. I glared up at him, determined not to let him intimidate me.

"Don't you understand?" he growled, his grip tightening. "I know what happened that day. And when you were gone, I thought—I thought he had gotten you."

"What?" I asked, my eyes widening at what he was implying.

Jacob couldn't know what happened—not the truth anyway. _He couldn't_.

"_That fucking leech_," Jacob spat through gritted teeth.

"I—I don't know what you're talking about," I stuttered and I knew I was too shocked right now to make it sound convincing.

"We found his ashes, Bella," Jacob revealed. "And I could _smell_ your scent all over it."

I stared at Jacob in disbelief, memories of all of the times different vampires had commented on my scent firing rapidly through my thoughts, too quick to really concentrate on any of them. All I could really focus on was the feel of Jacob's unnaturally hot skin on mine, nearly scorching my arms where he gripped me.

"I could smell _them_ too."

My brows furrowed at his low tone, my gaze trained on his rapidly darkening eyes.

"I thought you were dead," he whispered, his gaze flitting to my lips as he leaned in.

My eyes widened as I realized what he was about to do and I tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but his grip was too tight. He quickly brought his lips to mine, pressing insistently even as I continued to struggle. I pushed on his chest to no avail and his mouth grew harder against mine, demanding a response.

He somehow managed to pull my bottom lip between his, even as I resolutely refused to open my mouth to his coaxing. I pushed harder against his chest, whimpering in pain when he suddenly bit down harshly on my lip.

I managed to slip out of his grasp then, staggering backward as I brought my hand to my lip. I could taste the blood before I saw it smeared across my fingertips and I shuddered, feeling sickeningly dizzy. It took me a few moments of calm breathing to realize that Jacob was staring at me, his gaze still riveted to my lips.

I gritted my teeth against the taste of blood and the fury I felt. I stomped forward without thinking, wrenching my arm back to deliver a punch to his face. I screamed when my fist connected with his jaw, feeling as if I had hit stone. I cradled my injured hand to my chest, clenching my eyes shut against the pain shooting through my hand.

"Bella? Are you okay?" Jacob asked in concern.

"Am I okay?" I snapped, incredulously. "You just _forced_ yourself on me and I think I broke my hand. I'm definitely not _okay_."

I gritted my teeth against the pain, clenching my eyes shut as I tried not to cry. My thoughts were a swirl of psychopathic ghosts and too hot skin—and I felt so goddamn _violated_.

"What _are_ you?" I demanded because although he might have abandoned me, I couldn't believe that he would do this.

There was something off—maybe Sam Uley's cult had gotten to him?

Jacob seemed to snap out of it then, his concern quickly replaced with anger. He ignored my question.

"I _forced_ myself on you?" he repeated, as if he couldn't quite believe it. "So you'll screw leeches and perverts, but I'm not good enough for you?"

I felt my face redden at his crass words

"_I can smell them on you_," he snarled. "You must've really loved your _precious Edward_. Loved him enough to jump into bed with the first guys to come sniffing around."

"Stop it."

"A little old for you, though, aren't they?" Jacob continued. "Oh, wait. What am I saying? The leech was probably hundreds of years old and that never bothered you, did it?"

"Stop it, Jacob," I repeated through gritted teeth.

"Why? We both know it's true. Do they care that they're getting a leech's sloppy seconds? Or is just all the same to them?"

I couldn't stop the tears from overflowing now as Jacob's words grew increasingly cruel. I flinched back when he surged forward, pulling against the neck of my sweatshirt to reveal the bruises on my neck.

"Is that why you let them choke you? What, you can't get off unless your life is in danger?" he sneered.

I staggered back, feeling as if each question—despite being untrue—was a slap to the face.

"Well if you want danger," Jacob paused as a shudder wracked through his whole body. "_I'll fucking give you danger_," he snarled.

Jacob suddenly fell forward, his body shaking up until the point that his skin _broke_, allowing russet brown fur to spill forth. I watched in horror as he transformed into a gigantic wolf whose dark eyes rose to settle on me.

He licked his chops as he stared at me, removing the remnants of blood left from Jacob's harsh kiss with his long tongue. His ears flicked down and his lips pulled back to reveal a terrifying set of large, sharp teeth. He threw his head back to release a piercing howl.

_This must be how he knew about Edward_, I thought dazedly.

"_Bella—run!_"

I whipped around, shocked to find Dean standing a few feet away. I couldn't think about how much he might have heard, not with Jacob crouched behind me, prepared to attack. I sprinted over to Dean, following suit as he began dodging between trees.

I flinched at the sound of a loud crack behind me, wondering if Jacob had merely run through a tree in his pursuit. Dean just kept running, remaining close even as I struggled to keep up. He grabbed my uninjured hand at one point, pulling me through the trees.

Unfortunately, the added momentum made me lose my footing, and our hands separated when I crashed to the floor. I pulled myself up to my knees, whimpering at the increase of pain in my hand when I had reflexively tried to break my fall.

"_Come on! You have to keep running!_" Dean barked, grabbing my hand again and wrenching me to my feet.

I heard another crash behind us—one that was much closer than the last.

Dean and I continued to run for our lives and I was so relieved to see the end of the tree line that I could have wept. Our pace didn't slow as we approached, determined to escape the foliage as quickly as possible.

I groaned as I suddenly hit a barrier, falling backward into the forest. Dean was standing on just the other side, but quickly ran back when he realized I wasn't beside him.

"_Come on, Bella_," he urged. "We need to get out of the forest. We'll have a better chance out there."

I stood back up and tried again, gasping in pain when I found myself wrenched back.

"_I can't_," I cried, frustrated and scared. "Something keeps yanking me back."

That was when I noticed it—my new sweatshirt. Whereas before it was soft and comfortable, now it was heavy and stifling. I realized that just standing was beginning to wear on me, a lethargic feeling that came from more than just running. I was also suddenly having trouble breathing.

"Little Red-Riding Hood," Dean murmured in realization as I begun to tug at the fabric.

I couldn't reply, too busy trying to rip the sweater off. It seemed that the harder I pulled the more difficult it became to breathe.

"Dean," I choked, falling to my knees.

"_Goddamn it_," Dean sweared.

I struggled to breathe as Dean pulled a machete out of his coat and kneeled down in front of me. I felt his hands slip under the material, the back of his fingers lightly brushing my navel as my shirt rode up. I shivered at the chill of his skin, so refreshing after Jacob's scorching touch.

I heard more than saw Dean jerk the knife up, listening to the sweatshirt rip as he cut it off. I released a shaky sigh of relief when the material finally fell off of me, suddenly able to breathe again.

I struggled back to my feet, watching Dean throw all of the ripped fabric into a pile before pulling out a container of kerosene and a lighter. He quickly doused the remains and lit it up, stoically staring into the fire until the clothing turned to ash.

I stood beside Dean, realizing that Jacob's savage pursuit had gone silent the moment he set the sweatshirt aflame. My sigh of relief seemed to snap Dean out of his thoughts.

"Let me see your hand," Dean ordered, breaking the silence.

I resisted the urge to cradle my hand closer to my chest and warily extended it toward him. Dean gently took my hand and I stared at his face as he examined it, wincing when he lightly prodded one of my fingers.

"Looks broken," Dean murmured impassively.

"Yeah," I agreed, confused by his behavior.

It was like he was reading a script—there didn't seem to be any real concern behind his questions. We might not have known each other for long, but after the way he comforted me after my nightmares, I thought he might have shown a little more care.

"What's wrong?" I asked, trying to figure out why he was suddenly giving me the cold shoulder.

Although I wouldn't exactly call us close, things had been almost...companionable. I hadn't really noticed before, but the tension in his shoulders was a stark contrast to his generally laid back stance. Was he angry that I had left the music store alone, resulting in my run-in with Jacob?

I was still a little miffed at him for hitting on that cashier when we were supposed to be looking for cursed objects, but I was too relieved to be alive at the moment to muster my previous ire. Had something happened that I didn't know about?

"Dean?" I prompted when he still hadn't replied.

His back was turned as he replaced the kerosene and lighter in his jacket. I stepped forward and lightly touched his arm to get his attention, refusing to allow him to go on ignoring me—not when something was clearly wrong. Dean whirled around, knocking my hand off his arm. I felt rooted to the spot as he glared at me.

"What the hell was that about?" he demanded.

I should have known this was coming. When he had suddenly urged me to run as Jacob rounded on me, I knew that there was a good chance that he had been listening in. A sickening feeling settled in my stomach as I recalled Jacob's harsh words.

"I—" I stuttered out, at a complete loss of what to say.

"All this time. _All this time_, I _knew_ you were hiding something, but _this_?" Dean gestured in the direction we had come from, his arm slicing through the air in an angry jerk. "_Are you stupid_?"

"No," I bit out, earning a condescending laugh in return, though the sound was devoid of actual humor.

"You dated a goddamn _vampire_. It doesn't _get_ anymore stupid than that."

I winced as I unconsciously clenched my fists, feeling a sharp pain shoot through my injured hand.

"He was different," I argued vehemently.

Dean stared at me in disbelief. "You're delusional," he scoffed.

"I am _not_ delusional!" I yelled.

I hadn't meant to raise my voice, but Dean's words had easily coaxed that ever present rage to bubble up to the surface. I was sick of people telling me I was crazy to love a vampire. He _was_ different. I didn't care what he was because he was a _good_ person. Why couldn't anyone accept that?

Fate had dealt him a hand he didn't want, but instead of succumbing to that ever present need to feed, he had overcome it. He was the strongest person I had ever known.

"Dean? Bella?"

Dean and I turned toward the sound of Sam's voice and I watched him jog toward us, willing myself to calm down. Dean had begun shuffling a bit, his movements obviously reflecting his anger. Sam noticed this immediately when he reached us.

"What happened?" he asked worriedly, glancing between us.

"She lied to us—that's what happened."

"I didn't lie!" I protested.

"What's the point of all this?" Dean demanded, gesturing wildly between the three of us. "What's the point of protecting you if you're just going to go offer yourself up to another vampire?"

"I'm not _offering_ myself up to _anyone_," I gritted out.

"Then what the _hell_ do you call it?" Dean barked.

"Will someone _please_ explain what's going on!" Sam interrupted, raising his voice.

"_Gladly_," Dean replied with heavy sarcasm. "Turns out, Bella lied to us about—"

"_I didn't lie_," I cut him off, forcefully.

I could feel the anger fade from my system as I realized that I couldn't keep the Cullens' involvement in my life a secret any longer. I had promised not to tell a soul—and I kept my promises—but thanks to Jacob, there wasn't any point now. Dean _knew_ and although I wanted to go back to how things had been before, I knew I couldn't.

"Victoria is hunting me out of revenge for James," I began, my gaze absently sliding to my crescent-shaped scar, now visible without my red sweatshirt to cover my arms. "And James did die in that fire, but not before being ripped to pieces."

I closed my eyes in defeat, taking a deep breath.

"You see, they were just passing through Forks—Victoria, James, and Laurent—but when they realized there were already vampires there, they got curious," I explained wryly. "And when they saw me with them, they thought I was...a snack," I grimaced, recalling James' words.

Dean snorted and I clenched my eyes tighter shut.

"When they stood up for me—Edward and his family—James got angry. He became obsessed. He started hunting me and when it became clear that he wasn't going to catch me alone, he lured me into a trap," at this, I opened my eyes, leveling my gaze at Dean. "I thought he had my mother—I didn't lie about that."

I continued to stare at Dean, though his expression remained blank. I averted my gaze.

"He toyed with me," my throat constricted at the words, but I pressed on. "He had this camera... He said he was going to torture me. He said he wanted Edward to be able to watch me die."

I could still remember the terror that I had felt when James revealed that part of his plan to me. I couldn't bear for Edward to witness that.

A small part of me wondered if he would care so much now, but I quickly shoved that thought away.

"Edward and his family showed up before he could kill me," I continued. "They ripped him up and burned the pieces, but I wasn't really aware for most of that. I was too busy bleeding out from a broken leg. And then..."

"And then...?" Sam prompted quietly when I hadn't continued for several moments.

"I was burning. James had bitten me—"

"He _what_?"

I jumped at Dean's exclamation, my gaze immediately flitting to him. His body was tense—more so than before—and a quick glance at Sam showed that he was now standing much the same. A tiny sliver of fear and dread slid up my spine at the calculating look in their eyes.

Was this how all of those monsters felt when faced with the Winchesters?

"If he bit you, then you would be a vampire," Sam reasoned aloud slowly, his tone calm, despite his current stature. "You're obviously not a vampire."

"No," Dean agreed after a moment. "You're pale, but you're not _that_ pale."

Apparently, even as I stood there pouring everything out to them, Dean still couldn't resist cracking a joke.

"I'm not a vampire," I sighed in confirmation and a small bit of resentment. "But James did bite me." I raised my arm, indicating the scar that I usually kept hidden. "I didn't turn because Edward—he sucked the venom out."

"He _sucked_ the venom out?" Sam repeated incredulously, after a lengthy pause.

Sam shifted closer and reached toward me, his gaze silently asking my permission to examine the scar. Although the urge to shy away was palpable, I nodded. I tried not to flinch as Sam's fingers closed around my arm and he stared at the mark I had kept dutifully hidden.

"Yes," I said simply, directing my gaze at Dean again. "I told you he was different. _They're_ different."

Dean stared right back, but remained silent. His face reflected his disbelief at my statement, but his expression was otherwise closed off. Unlike Sam, who even as he studied my scar intently still managed to radiate concern, Dean was difficult to read. I found myself wishing I could borrow Edward's gift for a moment, just to get a sense of Dean's thoughts.

"This is definitely a bite mark," Sam observed.

When Sam released me, I lowered my arm to my side, resisting the urge to hide the mark. I was feeling far too exposed with my secrets and my scars laid out in the open, but I didn't want the brothers to see me cower from their gaze.

"So the bloodsucker saved you." Dean rolled his eyes. "If he's Mr. Noble, then why wasn't he there to take care of Lestat? Why isn't he here to protect you from the red-head?"

I clenched my eyes shut, feeling that familiar ache in my chest. It had dulled somewhat since I left Forks, but that question—the one Dean had also demanded an answer to on the day we met—it still _hurt_.

"He's gone," I replied, much as I had that day.

"Oh no," Dean said, shaking his head. "We're gonna need more than that this time. If you don't want us to take you home—"

My head whipped up and my eyes snapped open to stare at Dean. Although I had feared that if I continued to withhold information they would take me home, I was still shocked to hear the threat put into words.

"Dean!"

Sam's voice was full of reproach, but even if he really did disagree—and that was a big if—I knew that he would likely buckle under Dean's will. They were brothers after all and even though my time with them had been brief, their bond was unmistakable.

I didn't want to answer Dean's question. I didn't want to talk about why Edward was no longer around. However, I knew that more than anything, I didn't want to go home.

There was no escaping this time, not with Dean so adamant. It felt like my whole body was drooping with defeat and if I had been alone, I would have succumbed to the desire to drop to the ground and curl in on myself.

"What do you want from me?" I demanded, feeling helpless. "_He's gone_. He _left_. He doesn't _want me_ anymore. He doesn't _care_. Is that what you want to hear?"

I was surprised at how easily the words had slipped out. I could feel the tears running down my cheeks, but I refused to acknowledge them. I stared at Dean, clenching my jaw.

"What did you expect?" Dean asked, though he looked a little uncomfortable, likely at the sight of my tears. "He's a vampire. They're _monsters_."

"No, they're not. Not all of them," I argued, though even I could hear the note of defeat in my voice. "And I loved him, okay? I loved him more than anything."

Sam and Dean remained silent.

"But he doesn't want me anymore," I repeated quietly. "So can we please..._please_ stop talking about him," I begged.

I don't know what it was—the begging, the tears, maybe the look on my face—but Dean didn't protest this time. In fact, neither brother seemed to know quite what to say.

...

I sat on my bed in the hotel room, feeling an odd sense of déjà-vu as Sam tended to my hand. This scene was eerily reminiscent to my birthday, when Carlisle had patched me up. In fact, Dean was pacing the room much like Edward had.

"How did you know?" I asked, breaking the silence.

Dean paused, turning toward me.

"What?"

"About my sweatshirt," I clarified. "You said _Little Red Riding Hood_. How did you know it was cursed?"

I had been too busy suffocating at the time to ask, but now that we were safely tucked away in our motel room, I wanted some answers of my own.

"I didn't," Dean admitted, much to my surprise. "Sam figured it out. He called me after you ran off," Dean said gruffly, a note of accusation in his voice.

I wasn't going to let that get to me—not when it was his carelessness that had made me leave the store in the first place.

"But how did you know?" I asked Sam curiously.

"Timothy."

"Who?" I asked in confusion.

"The Karins' son," Sam clarified. "When I went over there today, he pulled me aside and showed me this," Sam paused, pulling a duffle bag toward him.

I watched him unzip the bag and pull out a smaller plastic one with a teddy bear inside. I raised my eyebrow at the stuffed animal, noting the way the bear's dark fur was matted in some places by something dark and red.

"Is that...?"

"Blood—it's blood," Sam confirmed.

"Are you telling me Goldie was mauled by a freaking _teddy bear_?" Dean asked incredulously.

I couldn't deny that I was feeling much the same.

"He said he picked it out from a place called _Treasure Trove_," Sam continued, ignoring Dean's outburst.

"That's where I bought the sweatshirt," I gasped.

"I didn't really know that at the time," Sam admitted with a smile. "I just remembered seeing one of their bags in here the other day. I figured you were carrying one of the cursed items around without knowing it."

"And you figured it out," I concluded, glancing at Dean.

"Big wolf pretending to be someone you know...plus...a red sweatshirt that won't let you leave the forest...equals...Little Red Riding Hood," Dean shrugged.

I stared at him for a moment, contemplating his explanation. Had that really just been a wolf pretending to be Jacob? The things he had said, while hurtful, were also based somewhat in truth. Besides, if a wolf was going to disguise itself as Jacob, why had it changed his looks so much since the last time I had seen him?

"So you don't think that was him?" I asked, uncertainly. "But the things he said..."

"We don't know," Sam admitted. "When a curse targets you...it can kind of...tap into your thoughts. Like Sally with the soup."

"Either that, or you're friends with wolves too," Dean muttered, snidely.

I watched Dean pull out a beer, my thoughts drifting to the last time he had done so. Things had been far less tense then, and I found myself missing that. Even if waking up wrapped around him had been embarrassing, at least he hadn't seemed to hate me.

"They exploit your insecurities... Try not to let what he said get to you," Sam's lips were quirked in a wry smile, obviously trying to comfort me.

I didn't know why he bothered. Unlike Dean, Sam's behavior toward me hadn't changed all that much. Actually, it was unexpected and a little disconcerting that the revelations from my past hadn't garnered more of a dramatic response.

I was beginning to grow used to the incredulity and disgust. As much as I despised it, Sam's reaction—or lack thereof—was perplexing.

I was drawn out of my thoughts at the sound of a gun being cocked.

"We should check the forest out anyway," Dean was saying, slipping his gun into the back of his jeans. "That wolf was too big to be natural."

Despite everything that had happened between Jacob and I, a feeling of dread settled in my stomach. Although the brothers had explained how it had merely been a wolf in disguise, there were still so many loose ends. What if that _was_ Jacob? What if the curse had turned him into that wolf? What if he was _trapped_ in that form?

I was still angry—no, _furious_—with him, but that didn't mean I wanted him to _die_. I couldn't let Sam and Dean hunt him down.

I opened my mouth to protest, but paused as I recalled their response when I tried to stop them from exorcising Derek Denasy's spirit. Even if I told them my theory, they might not hesitate. With all of the things that had come to light about the company I used to keep, I was almost certain Dean would definitely shoot first.

I needed to distract them. At the very least, I could buy Jacob some time to run away. There was no guarantee that he would, but I tried not to think about that. An idea quickly came to mind.

"What about Treasure Trove?" I blurted.

Sam paused what he was doing, furrowing his brows in thought.

"She's right, Dean. We need to make sure there aren't any other cursed objects out there. Besides, how do we know there's still a wolf?" Sam pointed out, gesturing at the teddy bear.

Dean sighed, but nodded in acquiesce.

"Okay, we'll shop first, then bag ourselves a wolf—if there still is one."

I relaxed minutely in relief, hoping that the detour would prove to be enough.

...


	16. The Red Hooded Figure: Part VIII

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><em>"The Red-Hooded Figure"<em>

I followed behind Sam and Dean quietly, mimicking their slightly hunched positions. The shop was closed—probably due to the age of the old woman who owned it. Although I still felt uneasy about trespassing, I supposed it was for the best. Her absence would make the brothers' search go a lot smoother.

The three of us had crept around to the back of the store, leaving us free from prying eyes as Sam picked the lock. The shop was old and obviously lacked an adequate security system, an oversight that I was very grateful for.

Dean didn't rush Sam like he had been prone to do, but remained oddly silent. I might have been imagining it, but he also seemed to be standing much further away than usual. I shook my head, realizing how ridiculous I was being.

It didn't matter how close Dean stood beside me and I certainly hadn't been keeping tabs. I was obviously just feeling insecure after his reaction to learning about my..._fraternization_ with vampires. I needed to stop being so sensitive.

I took a deep breath in resolve, following the brothers quietly inside.

In the beginning, I remained close behind Sam and Dean as they searched the shop, watching the beams of their flashlights trail across the merchandise in the store. It was too risky to turn on any of the lights, lest we attract unwanted attention.

Despite our certainty that all of the cursed objects had originated here, neither brother seemed to have any luck spotting more. As each brother slowly drifted apart, I debated which one to follow. Without a flashlight of my own, I couldn't really help in the search. I sighed in annoyance, wishing that I wasn't so useless.

I mentally added a flashlight to my shopping list.

"Find anything?" Dean rasped.

"Nah. Nothing so far," Sam whispered back. "Bella?"

"Yeah?" I answered quietly.

"Where'd you find your sweatshirt?" Sam asked.

"It was hanging on that rack with the other clothes," I supplied, gesturing toward the area in which Sam's beam of light currently rested.

"It was already there when you walked in? None of the employees moved it there after?"

"No," I shook my head, despite knowing that they wouldn't see the movement. "There was just an old woman and she stayed at the front counter the whole time, reading a book," I explained, certain that the woman hadn't moved while I looked around.

It was difficult to follow the brothers in the dark, with only the path of their flashlights to indicate their locations. Now that they had fallen silent again, I found myself yearning to break the silence.

"Maybe there were only three?" I suggested.

I bit lip, grunting in pain when I accidentally rammed my thigh into a table.

"Maybe," Sam conceded, though it was obvious from his tone that he didn't think that was the case.

I moved around the table, using Sam's voice as a homing beacon. They were a bit further away than I would have liked and I was growing uncomfortable in the darkness.

"When's it ever that easy?" Dean commented.

I redirected my steps toward the sound of Dean's voice, realizing that he was closer. I probably would have been hesitant to approach him if not for my growing anxiety. I froze when both of their lights simultaneously went out.

"Dean?" I croaked, my heart lodged in my throat. "Sam?"

I heard a crash and instinctively shot forward, trying to reach one of them. I didn't dare speak again, uncertain as to whether I would be leading whatever was in the dark straight towards me. At the sound of a male grunt and another crash, I fell to my knees, determined to crawl instead.

I felt along the floor, unable to hear over the unbearably loud sound of my heartbeat. Holding a hand out in front of me to check that I wouldn't run into anything, I wove between the tables. When one of my hands brushed a jean clad leg, I paused.

I swallowed down my embarrassment and felt up the leg to the torso, continuing my progress until I reached a familiar stubble. I almost breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that I had found Dean since Sam was always clean shaven. I patted his cheek lightly, hoping to rouse him.

"Dean?" I whispered.

I tried to check his pulse, but I had never been good at that sort of thing and began to panic when I couldn't find one. I moved my fingers from his neck to his nose, sighing in relief when I felt the warmth of his breath. Satisfied that he was alive, I grasped his shoulders and lightly shook him.

Distantly, I realized that I probably shouldn't jostle him in case he had a concussion, but it was dark and he _wasn't waking up_. All of my rationality had been diverted to restraining myself from yelling for Sam. As much as I wanted to, I knew that whoever had done this to Dean—and Sam—was still here.

My theory was confirmed when a pair of strong hands suddenly grasped me from behind, wrenching me off of Dean's prone form. I struggled against the grip around my head, trying desperately to hold my breath as I was smothered with a cloth.

_Chloroform_, I thought dazedly.

Blurry images of similar scenes from television and movies drifted through my thoughts as my body weakened and my eyes finally slid shut.

...

The first thing I registered upon waking was _pain_. It felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my temple. I could barely open my eyes against the persistent pounding, which worsened as a wave of dizziness threatened to overwhelm me.

I clenched my eyes shut, groaning as that small movement increased my pain. I tried to relax my facial muscles, huffing at the strain. Gradually, I became aware of the conversation going on around me.

"_Bondage?_ A little kinky for my taste."

My eyes snapped open at the sound of Dean's voice, recalling my panicked efforts to rouse him before I was drugged. The three of us were arranged in something of a triangle, leaving a large space between us. Along with Sam, Dean's hands and feet were tied to a chair. Flexing my own, I realized mine were bound too. I struggled for a second, wincing as each twist I made seemed to make the ropes tighten.

"_Finally_, we can get this party started," a feminine voice sniffed from the corner, quickly gaining my attention. I craned my neck, trying to get a good look. "Best not to struggle though. It'll only make them tighter," she advised, gesturing to my hands. "Magic ropes and all that."

_Magic_, I repeated mentally, wondering when I would stop being surprised by what was truly out there.

I stared at the woman for a long moment, struck with a strange sense of familiarity, though I was certain that I had never seen her before. The woman leaning against the wall was somewhere in her forties with light brown hair curled toward her neck. Her clothes were a little dated, but she was otherwise innocuous.

"Bella, are you okay?"

My gaze drifted to Sam, noting his worried look. Despite the circumstances, I felt a little warm faced with his genuine concern. After being treated so callously by Jacob and Dean, I was grateful to find that someone seemed to care.

"I'm fine," I reassured him, despite my unceasing headache.

"Yes, yes," the woman cut in, her tone impatient. "You're fine and _that's_ the problem."

I felt my eyebrows raise in confusion. Judging from the state of things, the brothers and I were pretty much at her mercy. If she wanted to hurt—or possibly kill—me, then she could have done so while I was unconscious. Why would she have kept me alive if that was a problem for her? Moreover, _who_ was she?

"It was you," Sam deduced, almost as if in answer to my thoughts. "The cursed objects came from you."

"I should think that was obvious," the woman replied.

"Does your mother know you've been using her shop as your own personal smorgasbord? Doubt that'll win you the daughter of the year award," Dean muttered gruffly.

The woman smirked as she drifted closer.

"My mother's been dead for hundreds of years."

I stared at her, finally realizing why she seemed so familiar.

"You're...the old woman?" I asked in disbelief. "How?"

"_Gretchen_ is my name," the woman supplied, standing in the space between us. "For every victim my cursed treasures claim, I grow younger," she explained, her tone radiating pride. "Three curses, three victims. Three lives sacrificed for a greater purpose."

"I wouldn't call vanishing a few wrinkles a greater purpose," Dean remarked.

I understood being self-conscious about your age—growing older while Edward remained the same had been a great source of anxiety for me—but this was different. This was killing innocent people to shave a few years off.

"How long have you been doing this? How many innocent people have you slaughtered over the years?" Sam demanded.

"It's impolite to ask a lady her age," Gretchen reprimanded, though her tone remained light. "Nothing is free, you know. Maintaining this body has its price."

"And you have no problem paying that with people like Sally or Tom."

"I don't pick them," she revealed, brushing imaginary lint off of her blouse. "All I do is cast a little spell and wait. The curse chooses for me."

"So...that's why we couldn't find any of the cursed objects until after their owner was dead. Because there aren't any," Sam realized.

"Until the victim best suited for the curse comes into contact with _their_ object? No, there aren't," Gretchen confirmed. "You see, it all comes down to compulsion. Fairytales have a way of working themselves out. Of course, I can ensure that the result is a little more...macabre than more recent interpretations."

She raised one of her hands to her neck and we watched as she pulled a necklace out of the front of her blouse. The chain wasn't anything special, but the bright red gem dangling on the end was certainly unique.

"I've been doing this for centuries. I've become very efficient at it."

Gretchen paused and I was surprised when she moved to stand in front of me. I stared up at her, shocked by the sudden venom in her eyes. Up until this moment, she had been eerily calm. I didn't understand what I could have done to cause her ire.

"Most of my victims don't live for more than a few hours after the curse has begun. And yet, here you are...alive _days_ later," Gretchen said and I could hear a note of accusation in her tone.

"Guess you're getting a little sloppy in your old age," Dean taunted.

My eyes widened as Gretchen stormed over to Dean and struck him in the face. He grunted with the impact and I realized that she must have had magical help because despite her age, her blow managed to split Dean's lip open.

"Bella."

I glanced at Sam quickly, wondering what he could want at a time like this.

"He's fine," Sam said, nodding at my body. "You need to calm down."

I looked down and gritted my teeth as I registered the pain coming from the rapidly tightening ropes. I settled back into my seat quickly, realizing that I had unconsciously started struggling when Gretchen had struck Dean.

My gaze flitted back to Dean and I felt a wave of relief to see that his signature cocky grin was firmly in place. How he could manage to look so unfazed and in control while tied down to a chair was beyond me.

"I know _you_ interfered in her fairytale," Gretchen hissed, glaring at Dean. "The lumberjack. _The Hunter_. You weren't supposed to be a part of _my_ rendition of Little Red Riding Hood."

"Can't say I feel guilty about screwing up your plans," Dean smirked.

Gretchen stared at him for a long moment.

"I'm going to carve you up like a Thanksgiving Day turkey," she promised.

"I hope you're not planning on adding stuffing. That's _definitely_ too kinky for me," Dean commented, though Gretchen ignored him as she stalked back over to me.

"Tell me how you did it."

My brows furrowed in confusion.

"Did what?"

"Tell me how you managed to resist the pull for so long," she demanded. "You must have felt it. That tug beneath your skin, that _need_ to immerse yourself in the role."

I stared at her, trying to recall a moment when I had experienced what she was describing. I had been feeling restless lately and now that I thought about it, my focus had drifted to entering the forest quite a few times, but I didn't think it had been _that bad_.

Those feelings seemed tied more to my need to flee from my emotions than fulfill some kind of curse.

"I didn't—"

Gretchen cut me off, grabbing my chin roughly. I winced as her nails sunk into my skin.

"She obviously doesn't know what you're talking about!" Sam protested loudly, though Gretchen ignored him.

"_Don't lie_," she hissed. "You should have been the first victim and yet, _here you are_. You must have done _something_."

"Maybe your equipment is just faulty!" Dean called, obviously trying to draw her attention away as well.

Their words continued to fall on deaf ears.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I insisted. "I didn't _do_ anything."

Gretchen's gaze turned calculating as she stared at me. After a long moment of silently assessing my honesty—and who knew what else—she finally released me. I unclenched my jaw, watching her settle back into the calm persona she had adopted in the beginning.

"Fine. _Don't tell me_. It doesn't matter. I'm certain I can come up with a way to loosen that tongue," Gretchen smiled darkly. "Or maybe I'll just eat your heart."

I swallowed.

"And what about me?" Sam asked, obviously still trying to gain her attention.

I was admittedly grateful when it finally worked.

"You?" Gretchen sidled closer and Sam's jaw clenched as she ran a nail down his cheek.

This woman clearly had no respect for personal boundaries.

"I think I'll keep you," she murmured. "You've got a strong jaw and I could always use a little entertainment."

I gaped at her in disbelief. Was she suggesting what I _thought_ she was suggesting? Perhaps spending so much time with Dean had affected my thought processes. I blushed despite myself, wondering if my thoughts would forever dwell in the gutter now.

A long moment of stunned silence passed before it was inevitably broken by the man who could never resist a good punch line.

"Lady, you give a whole new meaning to the word _desperate_."

Gretchen glared at Dean, but once again, she chose not to respond. I twisted my neck as she moved passed me, watching her walk out of the room without a word. I reluctantly turned back around after a moment, wishing she hadn't positioned me so that my back was facing the door.

I was starting to get a crick in my neck from the odd angle and the added tension in my body was hardly helping. My bonds were already constricting without giving the magical ropes another reason to tighten.

"So what's the plan?" I asked, keeping my voice pitched low in case Gretchen was listening in.

"Just to get these ropes untied," Sam muttered, flexing his hands. I watched his bonds tighten in response and winced sympathetically. "There isn't much we can do otherwise. Though, I think the key to stopping her is probably in that necklace..."

"Maybe Sammy here could try seducing her," Dean suggested, wiggling his eyebrows.

Sam rolled his eyes, obviously not finding that comment worthy of a response.

"So...how do you cut magical ropes?" I wondered.

"Burn them, maybe?" Sam supplied. "I don't know."

"When in doubt, fire usually does work," Dean agreed, his calculating gaze flitting around the room. "Too bad we're fresh outta that."

I chewed on my lip, determined not to panic even as the situation was beginning to seem rather dire. Although I had been in the middle of dangerous situations quite often in the last year or so, this was a bit different.

More often than not, it was about adrenaline and snap decisions. There wasn't much time to worry or think about what was to come. My altercations with those men in Port Angeles, Laurent, and the ghost of Joseph Clancy Jr. had been sudden and thus my actions had been based almost entirely on instinct.

The only exception was when I faced James, but that hardly took much thought either. I couldn't afford to think beyond the facts—Renee was in danger and Alice would _see_ if I put more than a second's thought into my actions.

At the time, I probably would have been grateful for a pause button or a brief moment to just _think_. Now though, with Sam and Dean bound in front of me admitting that they were out of ideas, I longed for the adrenaline that came when making life or death decisions with nothing but those gut feelings.

"Don't worry, Bella. We'll find a way out of this," Sam reassured me with a smile.

I felt my lips quirk in reply, despite my doubt. I glanced at Dean, surprised when I met his gaze. His expression was carefully blank and I tried not to feel too frustrated that even the threat of death hadn't made him anymore forgiving.

I wondered how long I would have to look at that mask, made all the more hurtful by Sam's easy acceptance and concern. As the sound of Gretchen's return put an end to our conversation, I wondered if I would even survive long enough to see that day.

My eyebrows rose as Gretchen entered my line of sight, wheeling a cart laden with an outrageous amount of sweets. It seemed that every dessert imaginable was present, gathered in sugary mounds that were piled so high they were already toppling over into other dishes.

"This is getting kinkier and kinkier by the minute," Dean muttered, gaze fixed on the array of dishes.

Gretchen produced a white cloth from within her pocket, taking a moment to shake out the wrinkles before she spoke.

"I don't choose my victims—not usually—but that doesn't mean that I can't," Gretchen murmured. "Just a little bit of hair and a drop of blood will suffice."

I stiffened, realizing that she could have gotten both from any of us after knocking us out. She could have done anything, really. That thought made me feel a little sick.

"Gretchen—listen. Do you really want to keep doing this?" Sam implored. "Haven't you lived long enough? Aren't you _tired_?"

Dean cringed as Gretchen gripped his hair harshly and yanked his head back. I held my breath at the sight of his exposed neck, unused to seeing him so vulnerable. Of course, Dean maintained his composure , gritting his teeth as Gretchen stuffed the cloth into the neck of his shirt like a bib.

I gasped as Dean's eyes suddenly flashed red and Gretchen released him with a satisfied smile.

"See? Perfect fit," Gretchen announced happily.

"What did you just do to him?" I demanded as Dean blinked his eyes furiously, shaking his head.

"Same thing I did to you," Gretchen replied. "Although judging by the look of him, I'd say this one actually took."

Gretchen was right—something was definitely wrong with Dean. He had stopped blinking, but now his eyes were opened a little too wide and were fixed on the cart of desserts which had been conveniently wheeled in front of him.

"Dean?" Sam spoke, though Dean seemed not to have heard him. "_Dean_," Sam repeated, a little louder.

"What?" Dean barked, finally answering.

Despite his reply to Sam, Dean's gaze remained fixed on the sweets. I frowned as he began shifting in his seat, causing his bonds to tighten.

"Dean, whatever compulsion you're feeling, you need to resist it," Sam said, an edge of desperation to his words.

"I know..." Dean acknowledged, shooting Sam a quick glance. "But I'm _starving_."

Dean's struggles increased and I watched in horror as some of the ropes tightened enough to draw blood.

"You said it took hours for the other victims to feel the full effects!" I exclaimed.

"The other victims weren't annoying," Gretchen replied simply.

"Let him go! Can't you see he can't stop moving?" I demanded, growing frantic myself. "The ropes—" I choked.

From the now full blown smile on Gretchen's face, it was clear that she was getting a sick thrill out of this—watching Dean hurt himself. Needless to say, I was surprised when she waved her hand and his bonds loosened.

Dean didn't waste any time in wrenching himself free, but any hope I had of escaping was dashed when he sprang for the cart, immediately beginning to stuff his face. From his wide eyes and the frenzied way he swallowed down mouthfuls of sweets, it was obvious that he had lost control.

"Dean?" I whispered in disbelief.

"Can't...stop," Dean gasped in between bites.

In another situation, Dean's gluttony might have been amusing. It was hardly a secret that Dean had a bit of a sweet tooth, particularly where pies were concerned.

This...wasn't. Seeing the desperation in Dean's eyes made this the absolute opposite of funny.

"Hansel and Gretel," Gretchen announced, plopping herself in Dean's vacant seat. "Well..._Hansel,_ anyway."

"Please stop," I begged, unable to tear my gaze away from Dean.

"No," Gretchen chuckled. "He'll never stop." She stood up from the chair, moving to stand behind Dean. "And why should he?" I gritted my teeth as she placed her hand on his head, petting him like a dog. "He's so..._hungry_."

Dean didn't even flinch at her touch, but merely kept..._consuming_. I felt sick. I clenched my eyes shut for a moment, wishing that this wasn't happening—that we had some kind of plan—_anything_ to keep my mind focused on something other than what was transpiring in front of me.

I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn't realize Gretchen had moved until she roughly grasped my chin. My eyes snapped open and I glared up at her. I clenched my jaw as she leaned forward, further invading my personal space.

"None of that now," she murmured into my ear. "I want you to _watch_."

Despite the way she towered over me, I realized I still had a direct line of sight to Dean. I stared over her shoulder, surprised when Dean suddenly met my gaze. He was still eating—he _couldn't stop_—but he looked less crazed.

My eyes widened when he winked at me.

"This is just the beginning," Gretchen spoke softly, though the threat in her voice was clear. "When he can't move... When he's eaten so much he can barely _breathe_... I'll gut him. And I'll make you watch."

I could practically hear Gretchen's smirk when I gasped, though my response had little to do with her words. They might have been more effective if I wasn't watching Dean shift closer to Sam with a pile of pie in his arms, still shoving food into his mouth.

"You could make this so much easier on yourself... On _him_," Gretchen whispered. "Just tell me how _you_ resisted and I'll let him die in peace."

"But how would I have... I didn't..." I stuttered.

Had I really done something to put off my fairytale curse? Could I have done so without realizing it?

"What will it take!" Gretchen shrieked suddenly, wrenching back in outrage.

I panicked at the quick movement, realizing that I needed to keep her attention focused on me. I tried to keep my gaze averted from the brothers, so that I wouldn't give them away. I opened my mouth to say..._something_...and flinched when Gretchen grabbed my chin again. Her nails sunk into my skin painfully.

"What do I have to do to make you tell me? What—should I be focusing on Sam instead?" Gretchen sneered, beginning to turn her head.

"_No!_" I screamed, wrenching forward and hissing as my ropes immediately tightened.

"No?" Gretchen murmured with a satisfied smirk.

My eyes widened in panic as she began to turn again.

"_Don't_," I pleaded desperately. "I'll—I'll tell you."

Gretchen's smirk was positively evil, but the delight in her eyes was unmistakable. I supposed that it would bother anyone to discover fault in a system that had worked flawlessly for hundreds of years. I wracked my brain for some kind of explanation as to how I had supposedly evaded the curse.

"I—I've been too drunk to feel the effects," I told her, recalling the day Dean and I had drank those beers.

Gretchen lifted an eyebrow. "Nice trice. Alcohol doesn't make a difference. Drunk or not, you would've completed your fairytale."

I grunted as Gretchen struck me, making my head snap back and the wound on my lip resume bleeding. The left side of my face stung viciously, but I refused to show my pain, not wanting to give her the satisfaction.

"Tell me the truth, or I'll start working on Sam. It _won't_ be pretty."

I glanced behind her, resisting the urge to smirk as Sam's ropes crumbled into ash under the flame of Dean's lighter.

"The truth is..." I paused, waiting till Sam was just behind her. "You're an _old hag_ and no matter how many people you drain, you'll still just be _an old hag_."

The enraged look on her face was _priceless_. My gaze slid to Sam and, seeing my attention waver, Gretchen whipped around to face him. Before she could so much as gasp, Sam ripped the necklace off of her and tossed it to Dean, who had stopped gorging himself.

Gretchen screamed as Dean threw it to the floor and stomped harshly on the gem. I watched her stagger back, the viciously pleased look that was on her face for most of the night replaced with one of absolute horror.

She stared at her hands, shrieking shrilly as her skin wrinkled and cracked. It would seem that the years were catching up with her as her cheeks grew hollow and her eyes sunken. I was unable to tear my gaze away as Gretchen grew increasingly corpse-like before quickly faded into a pile of dust.

The room was quiet, though Gretchen's dying screams seemed to echo in the stillness. It was several moments before Dean broke it.

"_You'll always be an old hag_," Dean mimicked in a high pitched voice. "We really need to work on your banter."

I stared up at him in disbelief. I thought _old hag_ had been pretty good—not to mention that he just used the word _banter_, which he had previously teased me for doing.

"And _you_ need to go on a diet," I countered, noting the whipped cream, chocolate, and jam smeared across his face.

I smiled as Sam burst into laughter and Dean rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. Admittedly, I would prefer Dean's pouting to his distance any day.

"Um... A little help?" I asked after a moment, indicating the magical ropes still keeping me bound to my chair.

...

**Characters:**

-Agent Ford—_Dean Winchester_  
>-Agent Hamill—<em>Sam Winchester<em>  
>-Miss Fisher—<em>Bella Swan<em>

-Victim 1—_Sally "Goldie" Johnson_  
>-Victim 2—<em>Tom Addleston<em>  
>-Shop Owner—<em>Gretchen<br>_-Waitress—_Jenny  
><em>-Victims of Break-in— _The Karins_  
>-Soup Kitchen Volunteer—<em>Anna Felsing<br>_-Guest Star—_Jacob Black_


	17. The Red Hooded Figure: Part IX

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><span>_"The Red-Hooded Figure"_

My duffle bag dangled by my side as I took another step into the forest, looking for a sign of Jacob. Despite Gretchen's death, Sam and Dean still thought it wise to investigate the possibility of such an unnaturally large wolf living out here. For all any of us knew, the woman had been keeping a pet.

That was their theory. Of course, they couldn't know how different Jacob had looked. Considering that the other curses had targeted people that already fit the descriptions—Sally's golden curls and my red sweater—I doubted that the Jacob I saw had been a byproduct of the curse. At least, not entirely.

I was glad when Sam and Dean had insisted on my remaining in the motel room. Their absence gave me the opportunity to conduct my search and hopefully prevent them from exacting their own brand of justice on Jacob—assuming my theories were correct.

So after shoving my dirty laundry in my duffle bag—I needed something to explain why I had left and subsequently became locked out of the motel room—and making a quick stop at a gas station for my own flashlight, I had returned to the forest to seek Jacob out.

If I was right, then Jacob would realize I was here and show himself.

There was a long stretch of time in which I tried to ignore the heaviness of the darkness, as well as my injuries. Sam had managed to patch me up before they left, but there were so many new wounds that it was difficult to concentrate on much else.

"Bella."

I whipped around at the sound of Jacob's voice, shining my flashlight on his face. He squinted against the light, but otherwise didn't move. I trailed the beam down his torso, taking note of his similar state of dress, with the exception of the addition of a t-shirt. He didn't appear to be hurt, but I knew that might change if he didn't leave soon.

"You need to leave," I warned without preamble.

Jacob took a hesitant step forward, but when I reflexively took a step back in reply, he stopped.

"Bella, I'm sorry," he said, his voice almost pained. "I don't know what happened before, but you have to know... You have to know that I'd never hurt you like that—"

"I know," I cut him off, taking a deep breath as I prepared to explain. "Most of that...wasn't your fault," I acknowledged. "You were under the influence of a curse."

"A curse?" Jacob repeated, disbelievingly. "Okay, so vampires exist, but that doesn't mean fairies or unicorns do too," he laughed.

I couldn't help but notice that while he had apologized for his behavior before, he failed to comment on the fact that he had _turned into a gigantic wolf_. I would have thought that would have been the most shocking part of our encounter, but perhaps for _him_ it wasn't.

"And werewolves?" I accused, watching intently for his reaction.

His responding cringe was practically a confession.

"So...you're a werewolf," I said.

Jacob's jaw clenched, but after a moment, he nodded.

I stared at him, once again noting all of the differences between this Jacob and the one I had once known. I should have been surprised that one of my friends had also turned out to be a supernatural being, but I wasn't.

I think I was becoming desensitized to it all.

"How long?" I asked, though considering the extreme physical changes he had gone through, I figured I already knew.

"I started..._changing_...that night you thought I had the flu."

"I'm pretty sure Harry said you had mono."

"Right," Jacob muttered and if it wasn't so dark, I thought he might have blushed.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked, unable to keep the hurt out of my voice.

I had been so worried about him and yet, he had continued to dodge my calls. I had thought we were friends, but I supposed we weren't as close as I had thought. Despite my feelings about him now, it was a painful realization to come to.

"I wanted to, but...I couldn't," Jacob admitted, before quickly going on the offensive. "Besides, what would I have said? How do you tell the _vamp girl_ that you're turning into a werewolf?" he sneered.

"Vamp girl?" I repeated.

"That's what they call you. Because of how much you loved those bloodsuckers. They didn't want me to be around you, much less reveal our secret."

"It sounds like you did join a cult," I muttered bitterly, trying not to think about all of them sitting around a campfire, discussing my life.

"It isn't," Jacob snapped, obviously offended. Considering the way he was acting, I couldn't find it in me to care. "I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to."

"What do you mean?" I asked, curious despite myself.

"We're a pack. And every pack has an Alpha. Sam gave an alpha order _not_ to reveal our secret. Orders like that... You just can't break."

_Still sounds like a cult_, I thought, but I refrained from pointing that out.

I didn't know much about werewolf lore, but I couldn't imagine losing control of my life like that.

"Then why are we talking about it now? Doesn't this go against your..._orders_?" I asked, muttering the last word with distaste.

"I didn't though, don't you see? I couldn't reveal my secret, but if you figured it out..." Jacob trailed off with a trace of the happy grin I was once used to seeing.

The expression didn't sit quite right with the recently hardened angles of his face.

"It'll be easier...now that you know," Jacob continued. "And when we get back to Forks, you can tell me all about the vampires. Wait till you hear about some of the stuff that's been happening on the Rez..."

Jacob took another step forward, but this time, my responding step back was deliberate.

"I'm not going back, Jake."

"What?" he asked, the smile slipping off his face.

"I can't go back... Not after everything."

Jacob's expression was incredulous, but I remained silent. After a moment, he sighed heavily.

"Listen, Bella... I never would have said those things—"

"But you meant them, didn't you?" I cut him off.

"You're wrong."

"Please don't lie to me. I want the truth—you owe me that much."

"But it's like you said before... The curse—"

"Compels you to do things, yes. But it doesn't put words into your mouth. Those words...they were yours," I pointed out.

It would have been easy to blame the curse, to pretend that those hurtful words hadn't come from Jacob. I knew the truth though and while I was able to forgive a lot of things, I knew I wouldn't be able to forget this. Even looking at him now was difficult. Every time he opened his mouth, I could almost hear a faint echo of those words and a phantom press of his lips insistently against mine.

I felt abandoned and used—always the victim. I was sick of it.

I couldn't decide whether Jacob's telling silence was worse than if he had continued to argue. I wouldn't have believed him if he had, but still. Knowing something and having it confirmed were two very different things.

"What about Charlie?" Jacob asked, obviously beginning to grasp at straws.

I felt bitter resentment flare inside me at Jacob's triumphant look when I cringed. It was obvious that he was trying to manipulate me and for a moment, I wondered if he had always been like that. Was becoming a werewolf similar to turning into a vampire? Had Jacob really changed, or had his personality traits merely been heightened?

"Charlie is better off without me," I muttered.

"How can you say that?" Jacob asked incredulously. "He's been worried sick about you. You just left without word—"

"What do you think is going on here?" I demanded, gesturing around us. "Do you think that I hopped into a car with two strangers and rode with them across the state _just for kicks?_"

_No_, I thought, _he thinks I did it to fulfill some kind of kinky crave for danger._

"Laurent—that vampire you were going on about earlier—he tried to kill me, Jake. And you want to know who saved me?" I asked, my voice rising. "_They_ did."

Jacob snorted. "So what, now you owe them or something? They don't sound like good guys to me," he added blithely.

"_No_," I replied in what was nearly a growl. "Did you ever wonder _why_ Laurent was there?" I asked, getting an unreasonable amount of pleasure out of the uncertainty that was now present on his face. "He was there for _me_. And that's not all," I continued before he could interrupt. "There's another one after me too—Victoria."

"This is because of Cullen, isn't it?" Jacob murmured after a moment, his tone full of censure.

"This is because _Edward _killed Victoria's mate when he tried to _eat me_. She wants revenge."

I watched Jacob's gaze harden with determination.

"Then you need to come home. I—_the Pack_ can protect you," he spoke emphatically.

I shook my head. "It's better this way. The further away I am from Forks, the less danger I'm putting Charlie in. Sam and Dean know what they're doing."

"You're really think you're safer with them than me?" Jacob asked in disbelief.

_Yes, _I thought, _because despite what you think, neither of them has forced themselves on me._

"Look—I don't expect you to understand, but...I'm better for having left."

"So that's all it took? A week away from Forks with two guys _you just met_ and that's it? You're over Edward?"

I flinched, hearing the accusation in his words.

"No—definitely not," I sighed. "I don't think...I don't think I'll ever get over him. But doing this...hunting monsters..._saving_ people...it—it makes it hurt less."

"And how long do you think this can last?" Jacob wondered. "How long do you think they'll let you tag along before—"

"Before they leave me too?" I snapped bitterly. "I don't know. But I think...I think I'm going to try to stay with them as long as I can."

I took a deep breath, wishing that I could keep these thoughts to myself. I wanted Jacob to understand though, at least, enough to show my resolve and get him to accept what I was saying.

"I know it can't last..." I admitted, quietly. "Hell, Dean already seems to hate me—thanks to you," I pointed out. "But...I'm still better off with them. I can't...I can't go back to Forks. I can't go back there just to...rot."

Jacob stared at me for a moment, lost for words.

"You're gonna get yourself killed," he said finally, though he seemed to have given up.

"I'd rather die fighting than just...fade away," I muttered.

I could remember how my life used to be, back in Forks. Between those months of apathy to my eventual shift into an adrenaline junkie, it was obvious that I hadn't been alright. I still wasn't, but it was difficult to give into those tendencies in the midst of a hunt.

Being with the brothers gave me something to focus on—something beyond me. As new as I was to this kind of life, I was still able to help. What the brothers were doing actually _meant_ something and being able to contribute—even if it was only in the smallest of ways—made me feel a little less worthless.

Sam and Dean's penchant for making sarcastic quips—regardless of the situation—certainly helped improve my mood, too. Thinking about the brothers and feeling the weight of my duffle bag hanging at my side, reminded me of the time. They hadn't stumbled upon us yet, but I doubted our luck would continue if we stood here much longer.

Besides, if I wanted Sam and Dean to buy my reason for being out, I needed to get to a Laundromat.

"You really need to leave now, Jake," I paused, weighing my next words. "They...they hunt monsters."

When he cringed this time, I didn't get any pleasure from it, nor from causing the wounded look on his face. It reminded me of how Charlie had looked when I had said those things so that I could run away in a ploy to trick James. An unsettling feeling sunk in as I realized that I might be just as manipulative as Jacob.

I watched him turn his back to me and retreat into the forest without so much as a glance. I tried not to think about how—if I ended up dying at the end of this whole affair—those biting words would be the last thing I had said to him.

...

It wasn't until sometime during the night that the dam finally broke. My hands shook as I pulled the blanket back and I sat upright, shifting my feet to the floor. A powerful shudder wracked my body as the events of the day finally caught up with me.

I bit my lip, attempting to muffle any sound. I didn't have to worry about waking Dean—a room had opened up and he had practically jumped at the chance to move to a new bed—but Sam was another story.

I slowly slid out of bed, pulling on my coat and shoes before quietly leaving the room. Although part of me was a little hurt that Dean was so eager to distance himself from me, I was grateful that his absence had afforded me the other key to the room.

I gently shut the door and shifted over to lean against the wall. The tears came unbidden and I exhaled shakily, finally allowing myself to crumble. I slid to the floor, cradling my head against my knees as I gripped my legs tightly.

I was surprised I had lasted so long, that I had managed to push everything deep down until this moment of seclusion. Everything—from the venomous words to the cruel taunts—swam through my head, shattering the walls I had carefully maintained throughout most of the day.

There weren't any gut-wrenching sobs, though I did have a fair share of whimpers to muffle. This breakdown seemed more intent on keeping that burning pain in my chest alight, reminding me of the void that claimed residence there.

All of that time I spent with Jacob before I left, before he _changed_, felt tainted. I found myself wishing that I could go back to how things once were, when Jacob was my best friend and I didn't feel so damn _bitter_.

Between the recent bursts of anger and the unsettling feelings of resentment toward Jacob, I was beginning to feel like I was losing myself. I supposed I preferred yelling to crying, but I wasn't sure what this change meant.

Equally troubling, was Dean's behavior. I didn't understand why it bothered me so much to see him pull away. Of course, life would be easier if we got along, but it shouldn't have _mattered_. Despite what I told Jacob, I shouldn't have wanted to stay with Sam and Dean so badly.

Yet, I could feel Dean's disappointment like a weight on my chest, fervently pressing down.

I cringed when I heard the door click open and quickly wiped my eyes. I prepared to get up, silently praying that Sam would just let this go without comment.

I was surprised when he abruptly sat down beside me, casually resting his arms on his knees. He didn't look at me, but kept his gaze directed in front of him instead. It took me a moment to realize that he was giving me privacy and despite the ache that had been settling in my chest, I felt a bit of warmth from the gesture.

Of course, this triggered more tears, but this time, I didn't try to hide them. I mimicked his pose, keeping my gaze averted in front of me. My thoughts were oddly blank, as if the volume of my worries had been turned down. They still remained, but seemed soothed by either Sam's presence or the outlet of tears, which felt far more like a _release_ than the unending torrent they had been earlier.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I asked suddenly, shifting around to face him.

Sam glanced at me in surprise, whether from the break in silence or what I had said, I didn't know. Still, I figured it would be best to clarify.

"After everything you found out about me today, you're still..." I paused, uncertain of how I meant to finish that thought. "It's just that Dean..." I trailed off, once again at a loss for words.

I had made my fair share of declarations today, so perhaps I had run out of words. Judging from Sam's expression, he seemed to understand what I was trying to say.

"I guess I just don't...see things as black-and-white as he does," Sam replied.

"So...it doesn't bother you then? That I...loved a vampire?" I asked quietly, almost afraid to hear the answer.

I grimaced when he didn't reply, letting my gaze fall to my lap.

"Dean wouldn't understand..." Sam spoke, hesitatingly. "He's never...he's never really been in love...I don't think."

"But you have?" I asked.

"Not to a vampire," Sam smirked. "But yeah."

I thought about Sam and Dean's lives. With all of the evil out there, I couldn't imagine there would be much time for falling in love. The fact that Sam hadn't mentioned a woman since I met him was sadly telling. I didn't know what had happened to her, but I decided not to ask.

"He really was a good guy," I spoke quietly. "As much as he hurt me when he left, it doesn't...it doesn't change anything." I gripped my legs tighter. "He was a good guy."

Sam nodded, though I couldn't tell if he actually believed what I was saying, or if he was just trying to placate me.

"He's a vegetarian, you know." Sam raised an eyebrow at that. "He hunts animals."

"He told you that?" Sam asked.

Although his tone was mild, I didn't miss the suggestion in his words.

"He did," I agreed. "But he didn't really have to. When a vampire drinks only animal blood, their eyes turn gold," I explained, my tone a touch wistful.

I could still see those golden eyes in my head, when I let myself. It was difficult though, as they would often harden as they had when he told me he didn't want me anymore.

I shook those thoughts away—I had cried enough tonight.

"Really?" Sam asked in surprise.

"Yeah, they're only red when they're a newborn or if they drink human blood."

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but I quickly cut him off, having anticipated what he was going to ask next.

"They weren't contacts," I said. "You would've been able to see the red under them if they were."

"Right," Sam conceded.

I shifted back into my previous position, letting my thoughts wander. We stayed like that for several more minutes before Sam finally stood and offered his hand. I stared at it for a moment before I grasped it, allowing him to pull me up.

It was nice to talk about Edward with someone who wouldn't pass judgment. As much as I had wanted to be alone tonight, I was grateful for Sam's presence. I followed him silently inside, determined not to let Dean's distance get to me in the days ahead.

...

**And so concludes the second episode. I have a general idea of how the next one is going to go, but I still have some fine details to flesh out. As for how many episodes this story will have, that number is currently at 13, though it's entirely possible that I'll eventually add more.**

**On a side note, I have created a trailer for a future episode of this story, so feel free to check that out. You can find the link posted on my profile. Additionally, I have started working on the artwork of what could potentially become a comic book for this story, so keep an eye peeled for that.**

**Once again, I would like to thank you for continuing to read this, despite the distinct lack of intense Dean/Bella action. I am having a fantastic time working on this story—I think I'm probably in love with it, to be honest—so it really makes me happy to know that others are enjoying it too.**


	18. The Forked Road: Part I

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><em>"The Forked Road"<em>

**Rosedale, Mississippi**

I started awake, blinking rapidly to dislodge the sleep from my eyes. I was shocked to find Dean towering over me. For a brief moment, I wondered if he had thoughtfully awoken me from another nightmare, but quickly dispelled that thought once I recalled what had transpired yesterday.

"Time to get up. We've gotta hit the road," Dean grumbled before quickly turning away.

I sat up, watching him move around the room with furrowed brows.

"Where are we going?" I rasped, my throat still sore from sleep.

"Rosedale, Mississippi," Dean muttered.

"Mississippi?" I repeated, incredulously.

"We got a call about some strange deaths," Sam explained, stepping out of the bathroom.

I glanced around the room, noting their packed bags resting on Sam's bed. I swept my hair out of my face and slowly disentangled myself from the sheets.

"What about Victoria?" I asked, hesitatingly.

"We've got bigger fish to fry," Dean smirked.

I tried not to frown at how dismissive he was of Victoria.

"She still hasn't made a move, so it's safe to assume that she's biding her time," Sam added. "Vampires are notorious for taking their time and since there haven't been anymore disappearances...there's no reason for us to stick around and wait."

I nodded slowly in understanding of Sam's reasoning, even if I was a little nervous. It had been over a week since we left Forks, but this would be the first time I had left Washington with the brothers. I wasn't necessarily worried about travelling across the country with them, but there was a sense of finality about allowing so much distance.

There wasn't a risk of running into Jacob or anyone else I knew there and it was extremely unlikely that Charlie's reach extended so far. I didn't have to worry about being noticed and that realization was rather comforting, to be honest. As easy as it was to fade into the background in Spokane and Kennewick, it would be even more so in Mississippi.

I gathered my things and changed quickly, ready to move onto our next adventure. Strangely enough, the idea of investigating a couple of murders actually sounded refreshing. I wasn't lying when I told Jacob that helping the brothers gave me a sense of purpose and after everything that had been revealed yesterday, I was looking forward to a distraction.

I slid into the back of the impala, watching Dean jog up to the main office to return our keys. I glanced at Sam in the rearview mirror, having felt his gaze. He smiled reassuringly, whether in response to the new case or my breakdown last night, I didn't know. Regardless of the reason, I tentatively returned it.

My smile fell when Dean jerked open the door to the driver's side, shooting a terse look at me as he took his seat. I sunk further into mine, staring down at my lap.

...

An hour had passed since we left Kennewick and in that time, it had been mostly silent in the car, barring the radio. While Sam sifted through the journal, Dean sang along to his music. I kept my gaze resolutely directed out of the window, determined not to react to the increasingly louder noise.

"You think you can turn that down?" Sam asked.

"No can do, Sammy," Dean replied, air-drumming.

The sound abruptly lowered, much to my relief.

"Hey! Hands off."

I clenched my eyes shut as the music once again resumed its blaring volume and winced as it became even louder. As much as I was grateful for Sam's interference, I was beginning to wonder if I would have been better off if he hadn't said anything.

"_Dean_, I can't concentrate."

"Yeah right," Dean scoffed. "You just want me to turn it down because _Bella_ hates music."

"I don't hate music," I muttered, though I doubted that either of them had heard me.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

I sighed, pressing my forehead against the glass as the brothers continued to bicker. Ordinarily, their jabs at each other were rather entertaining, but between the loud music and my exhausting breakdown last night, I was beginning to get a headache.

I shut my eyes, willing the pounding to stop.

...

I jerked awake, cringing as I registered the music that was pumping through the speakers. I struggled to remember when I had fallen asleep and was relieved when Sam turned the radio down.

"Was that necessary?" Sam snapped.

Dean only shrugged in reply. I huffed out a breath, wondering how long I would be the target of Dean's childish behavior. I couldn't decide what was worse—the enforced distance or his annoying pranks.

"We're thinking about stopping for some food. You hungry?" Sam asked.

I took a moment to assess my stomach contents and nodded when I felt a confirming pang of hunger. I watched Dean's hands as he turned the wheel to take the next exit and glanced outside, wondering how long I had been asleep.

"How long was I out?" I rasped.

I tried to clear my throat and grimaced at the dry ache. I wondered if all of the tears I had shed the night before had left me dehydrated.

"About four hours," Sam supplied.

"Oh."

I didn't know how long it would take to drive from Washington to Mississippi, but I didn't need to be a geography expert to know that it was going to take a while. I opened my mouth to ask, but hesitated, wondering if I should. I was curious, but I didn't want it to sound like I was complaining.

I sighed in frustration, hating how I was always second-guessing myself. I should be able to ask a generic question without worrying about how they would react. It wasn't like they were going to leave me on the side of the road for asking something so simple and mundane—the token question of any road trip.

"So...how long till we get to Mississippi?" I finally asked.

Sam glanced at me over his shoulder.

"About thirty hours, give or take."

I nodded, quirking a brief smile in thanks. I felt ridiculous for worrying at all.

"If you're gonna start complaining—"

"I'm not complaining!" I protested quickly, cutting Dean off.

Dean rolled his eyes, but thankfully didn't comment further.

...

I followed Sam and Dean into the diner, grunting as the door swung back and hit me in the arm. I had been too preoccupied with reading one of the specials they had posted to pay attention. I realized with a start that I had unconsciously gotten used to the brothers holding doors open for me and had apparently come to expect it.

I looked ahead, noting that Dean was behind Sam and had obviously been the one to send the door careening back into me. I frowned for a moment, pushing the heavy door open myself and nearly jogging to catch up as they were led to a table.

Dean was already sitting on one side of the booth, but Sam was standing patiently beside the other. Considering how Dean had been acting recently, I was grateful for Sam's offer. I quickly slid next to the wall.

"Thanks," I told Sam quietly, to which he simply nodded.

I glanced through the menu and although some of their dishes sounded interesting, I decided to go with a classic burger. After my poor experience at one of the diners in Kennewick, I realized there was a reason Dean seemed to always order that. I had better luck getting a good burger than anything else.

"And how would you like that cooked?" the waiter asked politely after I had given him my order.

"Medium is fine, thanks."

"You sure you wouldn't rather have it rare?" Dean interjected. "What's that you always say? _The bloodier, the better?_"

The waiter paused in his scribbling of my order, glancing uncertainly between us. I rolled my eyes at Dean's behavior and the fact that the waiter was actually considering changing _my_ order based on what someone _else_ had said.

"Medium, please," I insisted.

"Alright, and I'll be right back with a refill on that Coke," the waiter said before walking off.

I rubbed my temples and exhaled, determined not to let Dean get to me.

"Surprised you didn't order a glass of tomato juice."

"What?"

"Isn't that what you vampire groupies do? Sit around pretending to drink blood out of wine glasses?"

I glared at Dean.

"I'm not a vampire groupie," I bit out.

"If the false fangs fit..." Dean sneered.

"Vampires don't have fangs," I said matter-of-factly, trying to mask my growing agitation with triumph.

"Oh right. You like the pale, sparkly ones. Well, you've almost got the pale part down. We can stop at a drugstore to get you some body glitter and you'll be set," Dean smirked.

"Dean, knock it off," Sam snapped.

Dean, surprisingly did stop, but that self-satisfied smirk remained. I spent the next fifteen minutes scowling down at my cutlery, resisting the urge to kick him under the table.

...

We had been on the road for another four or five hours and it was beginning to get dark. I kept my gaze directed out of the window for the most part, trying to drown out the music with my own thoughts. Of course, they were hardly better, but I didn't have many options.

Once again, I vowed to get myself some sort of activities book the next time we stopped—anything to disrupt the monotony of long drives like these. Ordinarily, they weren't so bad, but Dean seemed determined to sour the experience.

I sighed to myself, wondering if I was being unfair. After all, weren't Dean's sarcastic comments just a part of his charm? I nearly scoffed aloud—it wasn't hard to figure out why I wasn't feeling particularly appreciative of Dean's sense of humor lately.

All of his jokes today were more like jabs—intending to wound. Nearly all of them revolved around vampires in some way and the continuous referencing of my relationship with Edward was keeping him resolutely at the forefront of my thoughts.

I didn't want to think about him. I didn't want to obsess over everything I once had—everything that I had lost. It was frustrating and just plain painful every time Dean threw him in my face.

Not for the first time, I was grateful that I hadn't met the brothers sooner because I couldn't imagine how devastating Dean's comments would have been in those early days after I had lost Edward.

...

I wasn't sure what time it was, but it was dark the next time we stopped. Rather than go through the whole diner experience this time, Dean decided to stop at a gas station. I was a little skeptical of their _fresh_ food, but I did grab some snacks and a drink.

I even managed to find a book of crossword puzzles, though I realized it was kind of pointless now that it was dark. Still, I figured they would come in handy tomorrow.

I strolled down the aisles, absently surveying the shelves. I was grateful for the respite from the car, relishing the ability to stand and stretch my legs. After a few minutes of mindless perusal, I moved toward the counter where Sam and Dean were waiting to make their purchases.

"Dean, don't you think you should go a little easier on her?" Sam was saying quietly. "I mean, she's obviously going through a tough time—"

"So? We're _Hunters_. Our job is to protect her from a bloodsucker. We're not here to coddle her."

I quickly turned and darted down another aisle, wishing that I hadn't overheard their conversation. I spent a few minutes staring unseeingly at their selection of gum, until Dean called for me to hurry up. I approached the counter slowly and paid for my things, keeping my gaze resolutely averted from Dean as I followed them out of the store.

...

Several hours had passed since our pit stop at the gas station, but I still couldn't seem to get Dean's words out of my head. I couldn't decide what bothered me more—that Dean thought the opposite of coddling someone was being a _jerk_, or Sam's perception of me.

I appreciated that Sam had tried to stick up for me, but I hated that he felt the need to do so. I shouldn't need him to fight my battles, even if Dean was being a little cruel. I didn't want either of them to see me as some defenseless little girl who couldn't handle herself.

I reclined a bit further, feeling a little awkward to be sitting in the passenger seat. The brothers had decided to switch places to give Dean some time to rest and I had opted out of mine so that he could have more room.

"So...what are we up against in Rosedale?" I asked, both curious and looking for a distraction.

"Not sure. Last time it was a Demon, but I don't think that's what's happening now."

"A Demon?" I repeated, curiously.

We had faced ghosts and a witch so far, but this would be my first encounter with a Demon. I felt both intrigued and apprehensive of that, considering the fact that, well, it was a _Demon_. I didn't have to be an expert on the occult to gather that there would be quite a bit of danger if we did run into one.

Sam glanced over at me quickly, before returning his gaze to the road.

"Yeah, but the victims this time are dying from what seem to be freak accidents."

"Oh... What kind of accidents?"

"The first victim, Johnny Sheafing, was crushed by a piano."

I raised an eyebrow at that.

"Yeah, that's definitely an odd way to die," I acknowledged. "But what makes you think there was something supernatural involved?" I wondered.

I mean, sure, things like that usually only happened in _Bugs Bunny_ cartoons, but it was possible, wasn't it?

"Johnny Sheafing was a very skilled pianist—one that seemed to come out of nowhere. He had just finished performing a concert in his hometown when he was killed."

"That's...an interesting coincidence," I mused slowly.

"The second victim, Cecile Frost, was a popular hair stylist. Apparently, her curling iron got caught in her hair and burned her neck."

"How's that a freak accident? Doesn't that happen to girls all of the time?" I asked, recalling when Renee used to do my hair.

I had received my fair share of burn marks from Renee when her attention would waver in the middle of the task.

"When they found her, the curling iron was about halfway through her neck."

"Okay, I see what you mean," I replied with a grimace. "So...if not a Demon, then what? Another witch like Gretchen?"

Johnny and Cecile's deaths were really strange—suspiciously so—as if they were tailored especially for them. It reminded me of Gretchen's obsession with fairytales and how each one suited her victims in a particular way.

"I don't know. Could be," Sam acknowledged. "Or something else."

I hummed in agreement, staring out of the dark window as I let my thoughts wander. Sam continued to drive in silence for several minutes, seeming preoccupied too. I glanced over my shoulder, noting that Dean was still asleep.

"Bella, I'm sorry for how Dean's been acting today," Sam said suddenly.

I turned to meet Sam's gaze, a little thrown by the abrupt subject change.

"It's fine," I mumbled, unable to stop myself from recalling the conversation I had overheard earlier.

"No, it's really not," Sam argued with a sigh. "Just...try not to let him get to you. Dean can't help but be a jerk, sometimes."

I smiled at Sam's assessment of his brother and decided that I would try to follow his advice.

...

It was nearly daylight the next time I awoke and it took me a moment to get my bearings. My body felt a little sore from sleeping in the car and my mouth didn't taste too great. I hoped Sam was planning on stopping sometime soon, if only just to give me a chance to relieve myself. I figured I could probably brush my teeth in there too, while I was at it.

"What time is it?" I rasped, clearing my throat.

"About a quarter after six," Dean answered gruffly from beside me, much to my surprise.

I glanced in the backseat, realizing that Sam and Dean must have stopped and switched seats at some point. Sam blinked his eyes open when he felt my gaze, obviously tired, but very much awake. I wondered why they hadn't woken me to switch seats, but decided not to ask.

I rubbed my eyes, cleaning away the last remnants of sleep. After a few minutes of mindlessly staring out of the window, I began to squirm in my seat. I was just about to break the silence and ask Dean to stop somewhere when he abruptly took an exit.

I sighed in relief, chewing on my lip as I continued to hold my bladder. When Dean finally pulled into a gas station, I all but ran inside to get the key, making sure to pocket my toothbrush and toothpaste beforehand.

The bathroom was pretty disgusting—no surprise there—but I was grateful nonetheless when I emerged with an empty bladder and a clean mouth. I glanced toward the Impala on my way back inside, noting that Dean was pumping gas.

When I entered, I returned the key to the guy at the main counter and thanked him with a blush, embarrassed for my urgent behavior before. The man smiled in understanding, thankfully choosing not comment.

I walked over to where Sam was hovering next to the coffee machine and grabbed myself a cup. Sam smiled through a yawn and although I returned it, I found myself worrying about his sleeping habits. I knew that I was hardly the person to pass judgment, but my personal experience with sleep deprivation was part of what made me concerned.

I didn't want to press though, so I decided not to comment. After all, for all I knew, Sam and Dean might've switched seats hours ago, affording him ample time to catch some rest.

I grabbed a donut and followed Sam up to the counter. I tried to protest when he added my things to his purchase, but he only smiled in reply. I huffed in annoyance because although I appreciated the gesture, I didn't like being a burden on their bank accounts.

Sam handed me my coffee and donut, holding the door open with his back to allow me to pass.

"You know...you guys don't have to pay for everything. I mean, you really shouldn't have to," I said, deciding that it would be best to broach the subject before we rejoined Dean.

"Don't worry about it," Sam replied simply.

"No really," I insisted, not liking the way he was dismissing my offer. "I have money..."

I knew that my money would eventually run out, but I didn't want to take advantage of the brothers' generosity. I had been too preoccupied to bring it up before—what with ghosts, witches, and vampires on my mind—but if I was going to be travelling with them for a while, then I wanted to pull my own weight.

"Seriously Bella, don't worry about it," Sam reiterated, leveling me with a look. "We have enough to cover everything."

I kind of doubted that because after only two cases, I already had a good sense about how lucrative the hunting business really was.

"But that's not the point—"

"Look," Sam cut me off as we reached the Impala.

I watched him set the coffee and donuts on the hood before reaching into his wallet and pulling out a credit card. I opened my mouth to protest—whatever he was doing—but paused when he pointed to the name printed on the card.

"Jimmy Page," I read aloud. I furrowed my brows and for a moment, I wondered if Sam and Dean had lied about their names before it all clicked. "Credit card fraud?" I said incredulously.

Sam shrugged, though his expression was a little sheepish.

"Obviously," Dean remarked as he swiped his cup of coffee and donut off of the hood. "Not like we get paid to save people's lives."

"Right," I conceded, though I couldn't help feeling a little uncomfortable with the idea.

...

"I need an eight-letter word for a popular television doctor," I announced, staring down at my crosswords book.

It was nice to have something to keep my mind occupied with and I think the brothers were feeling much the same. Although Dean had been a little distant and refrained from joining in, he hadn't been throwing more of those sarcastic jabs my way, so I figured that was progress.

I glanced up when Sam didn't respond right away and wondered if I had finally stumped him. His face was scrunched up as he struggled to come up with an answer.

"I have no idea," Sam finally sighed.

"I don't either," I admitted. "I don't watch much TV."

I stared back down at the crossword puzzle, chewing on my lip in thought. There were already a few letters filled in courtesy of some of the other answers, but I still couldn't make sense of it. I looked back up when Dean grumbled something.

"What?" I asked, surprised to hear him speak after being silent for so long.

"It's Dr. Sexy MD," Dean repeated a little louder.

I looked back down at the crossword puzzle and started filling in the letters.

"It fits," I confirmed, raising my eyebrows. "What's Dr. Sexy MD?"

"A TV show," Dean replied, rolling his eyes.

"A TV show _you_ watch," Sam snorted.

I tried to stifle a laugh as Dean shot him a glare.

...

I pressed my cheek against the cool glass, willing away my headache. I should have known better than to work on those crosswords for so long. I was beginning to get a little tired of being cooped up in the car, but I tried not to let it show. I didn't want the brothers to think that I couldn't handle this aspect of their lives.

I was glad when Dean decided to stop again for lunch, giving me the chance to use the bathroom as well as stretch my legs. After relieving myself—coffee actually probably hadn't been a good idea—and washing my hands, I splashed some cold water on my face.

I sighed in relief as my headache began to dissipate and quickly dabbed my face dry before seeking out the brothers. I stepped outside, sweeping my gaze across the parking lot in search of the Impala. My stomach dropped when I realized that it wasn't there.

I was beginning to panic, even as I tried to reassure myself that they wouldn't just leave me here. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my breathing. I couldn't help remembering the night Edward left and how prior to that, I hadn't thought he would leave me, either.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when Dean suddenly appeared at my side.

"Here's your food," he grunted, thrusting a bag and drink into my hands.

I stared up at him in wide-eyed surprise, but followed reflexively as he walked away. My heart lurched when he turned the corner of the building and I rushed to catch up as the panic, which had numbed from the shock of his sudden presence, returned.

I exhaled shakily when I spotted the Impala parked only a few feet away. However, once the relief wore off, the embarrassment kicked in. My face grew hot and the shame nearly overwhelmed me as I slowly made my way to the car.

I couldn't believe how much I had overreacted. I should have know that the brothers wouldn't just disappear on me, regardless of Edward's abandonment. I hated myself a little for immediately jumping to conclusions and constantly worrying that the brothers would eventually take a page out of Edward's book and leave.

Apart from the pain, it was just tiring to go through such emotional extremes for no reason.

I took my seat in the back, grateful when the brothers were mostly silent as they ate. I didn't feel much like talking right now and my appetite had nearly disappeared during my little panic attack. It had been a while since I had eaten though, so I resolved myself to force the food down.

...

It was dark when we finally made it to Rosedale, Mississippi. Despite spending nearly two days in the car, I was exhausted. I followed the brothers sluggishly into the main office of one of the motels, hoping that stopping for coffee was next on the agenda. If the brothers planned to start investigating tonight, I knew I would need something to perk me up.

"How many rooms?" the brunette behind the counter asked, glancing over Dean's shoulder to Sam and I.

"Two rooms," Dean replied quickly, leaning against the counter. "One for my brother and _sister_ and the other for me."

I frowned at the back of Dean's head, more than a little perturbed that he had called me his sister. It was annoying enough that he didn't want to be in the same room as me, but did he really have to lie about our relationship to each other?

It was obvious from the flirtatious smirk on his face that he wanted the woman behind the counter to know that he was single. Although we weren't _like that_, I couldn't help feeling like I had been rejected—pushed aside for someone _better_.

I scowled at the floor as the woman smiled back and tried to tune out their conversation. I was grateful when the woman finally handed over the keys. I quickly stalked out of the office to head to the room I would be sharing with Sam.

Sam jogged to catch up with me, but slowed to match my pace. He, thankfully, didn't comment on my abrupt exit.

...

After eating a quick dinner—and consuming enough caffeine to keep me going—we reconvened in Dean's room. I was surprised to find that the woman had given us adjoining rooms, considering the way she smiled at Dean. I supposed that it didn't matter to her as Dean had been clear enough on where we stood for her to know that I wasn't any competition—not that I would have been otherwise.

"We sure these aren't more deals comin' up for collection?" Dean asked. "Any calls about black dogs?"

"Already checked. No calls about any dogs—black or otherwise—and the victims have only been successful for the last five years or so."

"So probably not the Crossroads Demon," Dean mused. "Unless she's changed her usual offer."

While I had been more or less lost up until this point, everything suddenly clicked then. Recalling the entry I had found about Crossroads Demons in the brothers' journal, I couldn't believe that might be what we were facing now.

"Crossroads Demon?" I repeated, trying to keep my voice level.

"Yeah, they grant wishes in exchange for your soul," Dean replied shortly and I was surprised at the sudden tension in the room, particularly between the brothers.

"Well, whatever it is...it seems to be targeting successful people," Sam pointed out finally, changing the subject.

"Right. And I think I know who might be next."

"We've only been here an hour...how could you have possibly already figured that out?" Sam wondered.

"Diana invited me to an art opening for some famous sculptor tomorrow night," Dean smirked. "Said she knew the artist before he became big—about five years ago. Sounds like a good place to start as any."

I frowned, realizing that _Diana_ must have been the woman behind the counter in the motel's office.

"Sounds like an opportunity for _you_ to hit on Diana," Sam snorted, rolling his eyes.

Dean shrugged. "That too."

I grimaced at the thought of watching Dean and _Diana_ flirt all night. It was annoying enough when we were renting our rooms, but while we were trying to stop someone from being murdered? That just wasn't right.

"Oh, that reminds me," Dean said, "it's formal dress."

I glanced up at that and my eyes widened when I realized that Dean was talking to me.

"What?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I've seen all the clothes you brought with you."

I stared at him oddly, not really comprehending what he was saying. I was more surprised that he was talking to me directly, than anything.

"Dean's right," Sam chimed in. "If the killer's there, you don't wanna stick out."

"I guess I can stay at the motel...hold down the...uh...fort," I offered.

"You don't have to do that. We'll go pick up something tomorrow," Sam smiled easily.

"No, really," I protested quickly. "It's fine."

"So you're up for breaking and entering, but when it comes to going to some fancy shindig, you opt out?" Dean asked incredulously. "You sure you're a girl?"

I scowled at him—this wasn't the first time he had questioned my gender. It was beginning to grate on my nerves.

"Not all girls like to get dressed up."

"Clearly," Dean muttered, sweeping his gaze down my rumpled sweater and jeans.

I glared at him. Not all of us could spend two days in a car and emerge fresh and wrinkle-free.

"Dean, shut up," Sam sighed, before turning to me. "Bella, you'll be fine. We'll find you something tomorrow," he concluded.

As much as I liked Sam, I kind of hated him in that moment.

...

**Timeline:**

**March 4th — The Meadow Scene with Laurent**

**March 4th-7th — Spokane, Washington**

**March 7th-12th — Kennewick, Washington**

**March 13th — Rosedale, Mississippi**

**Sam and Dean used fake ID's with the names Jimmy Page and Robert Plant in "Bedtime Stories" (Season 3, episode 5).**

**The setting for "Crossroad Blues" (Season 2, episode 8) was in Rosedale, Mississippi, but this is not a rewrite of that episode.**


	19. The Forked Road: Part II

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><em>"The Forked Road"<em>

One great thing about sharing a room with Sam was that when I woke shaking from a particularly horrifying nightmare, he didn't pry. Although his concern was evident, there seemed to be a nonverbal understanding between us that it would go unmentioned. Sam's silence might have seemed out of character if I hadn't known about his own problem with nightmares.

I figured that he was just trying to give me the space he would want—a courtesy I really appreciated, though part of me missed the easy comfort Dean had once offered. I sighed to myself, tired of obsessing over Dean and his recent antics.

The first thing on our agenda for today was to visit one of the areas where people summoned the Crossroads Demon. Although I was still worried about what the existence of souls meant for the Cullens, I found the idea of a Demon that bartered and granted wishes particularly interesting. I was actually a little excited to see the site where all of this would take place.

Although eternal damnation hardly sounded appealing, the wishes did. There were so many things I regretted in my life that I couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to simply wish one of those moments away.

I clenched my eyes shut, shoving those admittedly dangerous thoughts away.

The ride over there was quiet, only broken by the sporadic slurp of coffee. I cradled mine in my hands like a lifeline, but kept my gaze poised out of the window. I glanced at the street signs we passed, trying to commit the names to memory.

It had occurred to me that perhaps I wasn't aware of my surroundings as much as I ought to be. After all, it would be so easy to get lost in a new town I hadn't visited before. If I ever found myself separated from the brothers, I didn't want to be left helplessly stranded.

Dean pulled over, parking alongside a field across the street from a place called _Lloyd's Tavern_. For a brief moment, I wondered if the brothers were going to abandon me in favor of heading into a bar, but quickly shook that thought away as Dean popped the trunk.

I hopped out behind Sam and took in my surroundings. The area didn't seem particularly special—just a bar and some fields with a couple flowerbeds. My attention returned to Dean as he retrieved a shovel and moved to what was approximately the middle of the gravel crossroad.

I watched Dean dig into the gravel, eventually unearthing an old wooded box. I peered closer, interested in seeing its contents. All of the items that the journal had mentioned were there, apart from the photo that was required of the person doing the summoning.

"No photo," Dean confirmed with a sigh.

"So either they dug it out after the deal or no one's been here since—" Sam began, before suddenly breaking off.

"Since...when?" I asked.

"Well, if they aren't deals, then what?" Dean asked, as if I hadn't spoken.

"Hard to say. Could be a trickster..." Sam suggested.

_Trickster?_

I glanced between the brothers, noting the way they kept averting their gazes. I huffed in annoyance, realizing that I wasn't going to get an answer.

"We should split up and check out the victims," Sam continued.

"Right. I'll take Sheafing. You two can take Frost," Dean said.

I wasn't surprised that Dean had opted out of my company, though it did sting a little. The brothers used to switch off before, but now Dean seemed determined to pawn me off on Sam any chance that he could get.

I watched Dean rebury the wooden box, wondering what the rest of Sam's sentence would have been.

...

When I finally realized why Dean had given us Cecile Frost to investigate, I had a very strong urge to kick him. It turned out that Cecile Frost had owned a shop in town, right beside a clothing store that seemed to carry only formal wear.

"You can find something for tonight while I talk to Cecile's co-workers," Sam offered, nodding toward the store.

I scowled at one of the mannequins in the window. Was it necessary for every dress to show so much skin?

Sam chuckled. "Come on, it won't be that bad."

I shot Sam a look that I was sure expressed my opinion on the matter.

"You'll be fine," Sam reassured, obviously trying to hold in a laugh. "You're just as bad as Dean."

I raised an eyebrow at that. Dean hadn't looked remotely perturbed by the idea of formal wear.

"Don't let that cocky smirk fool you," Sam said, seeing my look. "I'll meet you in there in a bit."

I continued to scowl, but nodded my head in acquiesce, before stomping over to the entrance. I ignored Sam's chuckling behind me, determined to get this over with.

There were rows upon rows of dresses, but most of them didn't look appealing in the least. The store seemed to be organized by color, which I supposed was convenient if that was what people based their choices on. I meandered through the store, purposefully avoiding the blue section as I wasn't too keen on reliving memories of Edward.

...

"Wow."

I whipped around in surprise, blushing when I came face-to-face with Sam. I stood there uneasily as he took in my dress, resisting the urge to flee into the dressing room.

"You look great," Sam smiled.

"You think so?" I asked uncertainly.

Although the dress was far more tame than most of the others, I couldn't help feeling self-conscious wearing something other than my familiar outfit of a sweater and jeans. It didn't help that my hand was still in a brace and the scar I usually kept dutifully hidden was now uncovered.

"Definitely," Sam's smile seemed to soften. "You look beautiful."

I hardly felt that way, but Sam's compliment seemed genuine, so I decided to get the dress. After all, it wasn't like I was going to find one that would make my injured hand and crescent scar magically disappear if I did keep looking.

I quirked a smile in thanks, before retreating back into the dressing room to change. It didn't take me nearly as long to pick out some shoes, though Sam kept insisting that I could have more time if I wanted. I didn't want to make him wait though, and besides, it wasn't like I needed anything too fancy.

Although I wasn't looking forward to getting dressed up tonight, it was actually refreshing to get to pick out my own clothes. Before the Cullens had left, Alice would always take the reins on that front, practically forcing me into dresses with towering heels that made me—the eternal klutz—fear for my life.

The sense of triumph I felt when the cashier rung up the simple pair of black flats I had picked out was brief. Although I didn't miss playing dress-up with Alice, I couldn't help but wish that she was here.

I was drawn out of my thoughts when Sam thrust his credit card to the cashier. I opened my mouth to protest, but Sam quickly cut me off.

"It's no problem," Sam insisted, giving me a look.

_Alice or not, I guess some things don't change_," I thought, rolling my eyes.

...

I took my time in the shower, relishing the hot water after being cooped up in the car for nearly two days. While I had managed to grab a quick one last night, it had hardly been satisfying. I let the hot water pour down my back, soothing my tense muscles.

I made sure my legs were smooth and my nails trimmed—if I couldn't help the hand brace and scar, at least I could make the rest of my body presentable. I combed my hair across the back of my neck into a simple braid draped down my left shoulder, leaving just enough hair out on the other side to serve as bangs.

I supposed that curling my hair would have been better—I could have purchased one at the front counter of the dress shop on my way out—but the idea hardly appealed to me after learning about how Cecile Frost had died.

Besides, without Alice to insist otherwise, I didn't really have to go all out. The only reason I was wearing a dress at all was because Sam and Dean needed me to fit in and to be honest, I would hate to stick out in that crowd.

I slipped on the dress and stared at myself in the mirror for a moment, before sighing in defeat. I sifted through my toiletries and pulled out the bag of make-up I had come across the other day. I had forgotten that the bag was in there and had most likely been added due to Alice's insistence.

I shook thoughts of Alice and the Cullens away, not wanting to think of them. Tonight was going to be bad enough without reliving those memories. After applying some light eyeliner and mascara, I nodded at my reflection, satisfied that I had done enough.

I emerged from the bathroom to find Sam sitting on his bed with his laptop propped open, most likely doing some last minute research. When Sam noticed my presence, he shut off his laptop and stood up.

"You look beautiful," Sam smiled and although he had paid me a similar compliment earlier, I could help but blush.

"And you don't look so bad yourself. Very...debonair," I smiled awkwardly, wincing at my odd choice of words.

Sam just continued to smile good-naturedly.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yeah, let me just—"

"Is Bella ready yet? If we don't get a move on, we'll be late—" Dean interrupted, nearly barreling through the door.

Though I tensed at the sudden intrusion, I kept my back to him and continued to speak as I retrieved my jacket, making sure that my license, cash, and flashlight were stuffed in one of the pockets—just in case.

"Just need to grab my jacket... I didn't take _that_ long," I sighed.

When I did turn around, Dean's gaze immediately snapped up to mine, making me blush as I considered where he might have been looking before. I tried to be discreet as I surveyed his own clothing. While he did look great in a tuxedo, I couldn't help missing his signature jacket.

"You...uh...clean up good," Dean commented, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

I chewed on my lip, wondering why I felt strangely unsatisfied by Dean's assessment of my appearance.

"Thanks," I quirked my lips in something of a smile back. "Um...you do too."

...

It didn't take long for Dean to abandon us once we made it to the gallery and he spotted Diana. I tried not to feel bothered by how quickly we were dismissed and how easily he complimented her on her dress—all traces of that earlier awkwardness seemingly gone.

_At least I have Sam_, I thought as we browsed the different pieces.

The gallery was comprised of a fairly large two-story room with stark white walls. Most of the artist's sculptures were arranged on low platforms, though there were a few hanging from the ceiling. The pieces were mainly composed of glass, though there were a few that featured metal.

I looked up at one of the hanging pieces, marveling at how the light shined through the glass.

"Wine?" a waiter offered.

I opened my mouth to decline, but when I spotted Dean and Diana flirting over the man's shoulder, I accepted instead. Sam silently took one too, though he gave me an odd look once the waiter had moved on. I knew he disapproved, though I doubted he would say as much after I had yelled at him last time.

I shrugged in response, taking a sip from my glass. Honestly, I was surprised that the waiter had offered at all. I wondered if I had unknowingly managed to gain that confidence I lacked in Spokane, or if I simply looked older in formal wear.

_Probably the latter_, I though, taking another drink.

"So which one's Donald Ketting?" I asked, glancing around.

I kept my gaze firmly averted from Dean and his _date_.

"Him," Sam nodded at a dark-haired man across the room.

Donald Ketting was a thin man in what I guessed was his mid-twenties, though he could have easily passed for younger. Despite his youth, he was obviously doing well for himself.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" a deep, female voice spoke from my side, drawing me out of my thoughts.

"He looks young," I agreed.

The slim woman in the green dress followed my gaze.

"Five years ago, he was nothing. But now?" the woman chuckled. "Simply remarkable. If I wasn't married to Hector, I would snatch him right up."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Perhaps I could live vicariously through you," she continued to laugh conspiratorially.

I looked around, hating Sam for suddenly disappearing. Both my eyebrows shot up when the woman linked her arm with mine, taking little care not to jostle our drinks.

"Come. You must meet Don."

I tried to resist, but she was surprisingly strong for such a thin woman.

"Um...no thank you, I'm fine—"

"Nonsense!" The woman continued to practically drag me toward the unsuspecting man. "A pretty girl like yourself could do with some arm-candy, considering that your former companion seems to have wandered off."

I opened my mouth, uncertain if I wanted to burst out laughing at this woman's suggestion that Sam was my former arm-candy, or scream for help. I settled for biting my lip instead, as she finally managed to tow me to the artist and I didn't want to frighten him.

"Oh, Don! You simply must meet... I'm sorry dear, I didn't catch your name...?"

"Bella."

"Oh, Bella! Such a lovely name. Anyway Don, Bella and I were just admiring your work—simply marvelous!"

I nodded absently, glancing around in search of Sam, hoping that I could get him to rescue me from this woman's clutches.

"Nice to meet you, Bella," Donald smiled pleasantly. "And please, call me Donny. I hate being called Don," he chuckled.

The woman huffed. "I wish you would stop doing that. _Don _sounds so much better."

"It _sounds_ snooty," Donald argued.

I stifled a snort.

The woman turned to me. "Bella, what do you think? Don or _Donny_?" she asked, pronouncing the latter with disgust.

"Um..." I chewed on my lip in thought. "I think that if he wants to go by Donny, then you should let him."

The woman raised an eyebrow at me in disbelief, before bursting into laughter.

"Oh, I like her!"

I shrugged. "I know how annoying it can get when people insist on calling you...something else."

"Oh?"

"I hate being called Isabella," I explained. "Or Izzy," I added.

"I think Bella suits you," Donald smiled.

"Of course it does!" the woman chimed in. "Bella _is_ Italian for beautiful."

I cleared my throat awkwardly.

"Oh, you'll have to excuse me. It looks like Hector's gotten into the cheeses again," the woman sighed, before stalking over to a somewhat portly gentleman accepting a sample of cheese from a waiter.

"I'm sorry about that," Donald apologized. "Sandra can be...a bit much, sometimes."

"I've noticed," I smiled.

Sandra reminded me a little of Alice with her slim frame and dark hair, not to mention her forceful personality.

_Stop thinking about the Cullens_, I reprimanded myself.

"So it must be strange... Being young and famous," I observed.

Now that Sandra wasn't here to lead the conversation, I realized that I had an opportunity to learn more about Donald Ketting, specifically why someone might be plotting to kill him.

"Yeah, it can be. It still amazes me that so many people are interested in my work," Donald said, surveying the crowd for a moment. "What about you?" he asked, returning his gaze to me. "Any inclination toward art?"

"Not particularly... I've always been more into literature, myself. I can barely draw a tree," I laughed self-deprecatingly. "But you wouldn't know what that's like. I bet you were a child prodigy," I smiled.

I couldn't help but recall my conversation with Jacob all of those months ago, when I was trying to learn more about vampires.

"A prodigy? No," Donald chuckled. "To be honest, I was terrible as a kid," he confessed with a grin, shifting a little closer. "But we'd better keep that on the hush," he said in a low voice, peering over my shoulder. "Sandra thinks it's bad for my image to tell people that."

I swallowed nervously at his close proximity, but tried to maintain a smile. I was relieved when he leaned back, though I did notice that he didn't return to his original position, leaving us standing closer than before.

"So what changed?" I asked, gesturing to the pieces around us.

Donald's smile seemed to slip for a moment, but it returned so quickly that I wondered if I had imagined it.

"Inspiration finally struck," he smiled, though I thought it looked a little forced now.

I nodded, pretending I didn't notice his shift in demeanor as I took a sip of my wine. I nearly choked when Donald touched my arm.

"Would you like to take a walk with me?" Donald asked with a smile that looked more genuine than before. "I don't know if you've seen the series upstairs, but I would love to show them to you."

I chewed on my lip uncertainly. While this would give me more time to try to figure out what his role was in the murders, I was hesitant to move somewhere more secluded with him. Although he did seem harmless, I would be stupid not to consider that he might actually be responsible for the other deaths.

The decision was taken out of my hands when a familiar voice called my name.

"Bella—there you are! I've been wondering where you ran off to."

I raised an eyebrow as Dean walked over to us, glancing pointedly at Diana, who was currently tucked into his side. Dean ignored me, keeping his gaze leveled on Donald.

"I'm Donny," Donald introduced himself once they had reached us, politely extending a hand to Dean. "And you are...?"

"Dean," he supplied, grasping Donald's hand, who winced at the tight grip. "I'm—"

"Bella's brother," Diana interjected with a smile.

Dean grimaced at that, though I didn't understand why. After all, _he_ was the one who had told Diana we were siblings.

"Oh! Nice to meet you," Donald said with a touch of relief.

Dean smiled uneasily back.

"Donny, your work is just amazing," Diana praised. "I can't believe it—you've done so well for yourself since high school."

"Yeah, it's really great," Dean agreed in a tone that was far more subdued than the one Diana had used. "You must have a lot of _natural_ talent to pull these together."

I cleared my throat awkwardly in the silence that followed, shooting a glare at Dean. His words had sounded nearly accusatory and it was obvious from the grimace on Donald's face that he had noticed.

"What can I say... It just comes to me," Donald replied, smiling uneasily.

"I'll bet it does."

"Dean, can I talk you for a moment?" I asked through gritted teeth. "Excuse us."

I led Dean a few feet away to give us some semblance of privacy.

"What's your problem?" I demanded.

Between Dean's childish behavior the last couple of days and his sudden interference when I was finally _getting somewhere_, I had had just about enough.

"Sorry to interrupt your _flirting_," Dean bit out gruffly, "but we've got a job to do."

"You've got to be kidding me," I said in disbelief. "I _wasn't_ flirting—"

Dean scoffed.

"—and what about Diana? If anyone is _distracted_ from the job, it's you. I was doing just fine before you showed up—"

"Yeah, you looked about ready to seal the deal," Dean sneered.

"I wasn't—" I growled in frustration, pinching the bride of my nose in an unconscious imitation of Edward. I quickly dropped my hand when I noticed. "I was _trying_ to learn more about him—that's what we're here for, isn't it?"

"That's what we're here for," Dean agreed. "_Me and Sam_." The clarification might as well have been a jab to the stomach. "You're just here so that we can keep an eye on you."

I grimaced at Dean's assessment of my role in their lives.

"I know..." I acknowledged quietly. Though it hurt to do so, I pressed on, "But that doesn't mean I can't help—"

"Yes, it does," Dean cut me off. "You're not a Hunter, Bella. And by pretending to be, you're just getting in the way."

I opened my mouth to reply, but as I looked into his hard eyes, I became lost for words. I cleared my throat, wincing at the lump that had formed there.

"Right..." I mumbled after a moment, looking anywhere but at Dean. "I'll just...go then."

I turned and quickly walked away, mumbling an excuse to Donald and Diana as I moved passed them. Weaving through the throng of people, I tried to put as much distance as I could between myself and Dean. I threw back the rest of my glass of wine and gratefully accepted another from a nearby waiter.

I leaned against the wall of a small alcove, swallowing heavily against the feeling of both hurt and failure. Dean was right—I wasn't a Hunter. I was just deluding myself by thinking that I could be—that I could do what they do.

I huffed out a breath, willing the traitorous tears back. I wouldn't cry over this—not in a room full of strangers with Dean nearby. All I had wanted was to help and crying now would just prove how weak I really was.

_Just breathe_, I coached myself, letting my head fall back.

I stared up at the ceiling, allowing my gaze to drift around the room. I was admiring the hanging glass sculpture when some movement caught my eye.

A man—who I probably wouldn't have noticed if not for his black suit which stood out against the stark white walls—was standing on the second story, leaning slightly on the balcony railing. My brows furrowed in concern as I wondered how sturdy it was, when I noticed the man extending his hand outward, his palm flat.

I followed the man's intent gaze to the glass sculpture, my eyes widening when I noticed it begin to shake. I glanced down and felt my heart begin to pound as I realized that Donald Ketting was standing right underneath it, thankfully alone.

My wine glass slipped from my lax fingers and I didn't think as I sprinted across the room, my mind focused only on reaching Donald before it was too late. I couldn't hear anything over the whoosh of adrenaline and the hammering in my chest as I barreled into him, grunting with the force of impact.

My momentum sent both of us to the floor, as well as Donald's wine glass flying. I felt more than heard the sculpture shatter as tiny shards sprayed outward, showering us in glass.

A woman was screaming and others were shouting, but I couldn't pick out any that I recognized over the ringing in my ears. Donald was lying nearby, staring at me with wonder. I tried to stand and winced at the pain in my knees, belatedly realizing that I had skinned them when we skidded on the floor.

Despite the chaos going on around me, I couldn't help but curse this formal wear for being terribly inconvenient.

"You—you saved my life," Donald breathed in awe.

I quirked my lips uneasily, furrowing my brows in concentration as I tried to overlook the smell of blood coming from my injured knees.

"It was nothing—" I tried to deny before a familiar voice cut through the cacophony around us.

"Bella, what the _hell_ were you thinking?" Dean demanded.

...


	20. The Forked Road: Part III

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><span>_"The Forked Road"_

I raised my head, surprised to find Dean crouched so close. Although the memory of what he had said to me less than five minutes ago still left a bitter taste in my mouth, it was hard to acknowledge that when faced with his concern.

In fact, perhaps it was the dizzying smell of blood or his close proximity, but it was a bit difficult to notice much else.

"Bella, are you okay?"

Sam's worried voice shattered whatever strange fog had settled over me and I blinked furiously to push away the haze.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I mumbled, hissing in pain when I finally managed to stagger to my feet. "Just scraped up my knees."

"What about your hand?" Sam asked, examining said appendage.

"Didn't land on it," I sighed, relieved that I hadn't injured my hand further in the fall.

There was a crowd gathered now, fluttering around Donald Ketting in worry. I allowed the brothers to lead me away, knowing that the last thing we needed right now was to gain more attention. We managed to sneak out relatively unnoticed, though Diana did spot us as we made it to the door.

"Oh my god—that was—Bella, are you okay?" Diana asked, seeming too panicked to finish a thought.

I clenched my eyes shut, just wanting her to _go away_.

"She's fine—just needs some rest," Dean mumbled hurriedly.

"Are you sure? Maybe we should—"

"We'll take care of it," Dean bit out, cutting her off. "Look—I'll call you later," he dismissed gruffly, much to my surprise.

I was relieved when we reached the Impala without further incident. I leaned against the passenger side, trying to ignore the feeling of blood dripping slowly down my legs.

"Bella, that was—"

"_Stupid_," Dean cut Sam off. "I _told you_ not to get in the way—"

"Dean—"

"So what? I should've just stood there and watched him die?" I demanded incredulously, my heart still pounding from the rush of adrenaline.

"_No_," Dean bit out with a glare. "You should've let one of us—"

"There wasn't time!" I protested. "When I realized what he was about to do—"

"He?" Sam cut in.

"I saw a man on the second floor. I think he might've made the sculpture fall, " I explained.

"Why do you say that?"

"He kind of...raised his hand." I lifted my hand in imitation of the gesture for a moment. "Pointed his palm at the sculpture. It started to shake..."

"What did he look like?" Sam asked.

"Um...he was wearing a black suit. He had brown hair..." I trailed off, unable to recall more.

"That's it? That's all you got?" Dean huffed.

"Well, he was kind of far away," I defended. "I might not have noticed him at all if it wasn't for his dark clothes."

"Ignore Dean. He's just being an ass," Sam sighed, sounding as tired of Dean's behavior as I was. "You've done more tonight than either of us," Sam pointed out, leveling Dean with a look.

I averted my gaze, shifting awkwardly and wincing as the movement caused a sting of pain in my knees.

"We should take care of that," Sam said, indicating my wounds.

I watched in confusion as he walked over to the trunk and retrieved a first aid kit.

"Shouldn't we wait till we get back to the hotel?" I asked.

"We aren't heading back there yet," Sam explained.

"Ketting might've survived one attempt on his life, but that doesn't mean there won't be another tonight," Dean muttered gruffly.

Although I was uncomfortable with Sam's praise, I couldn't help feeling a little disgruntled that Dean had referred to the incident as Donald _surviving_, rather than my saving his life.

Sam opened the passenger door, gesturing toward the seat. I sat down, but opened my mouth in protest when Sam kneeled in front of me, presumably to take care of the wound. I wanted to point out that I wasn't entirely useless—that I could probably handle cleaning myself up, despite my aversion to blood.

Noticing my unease, Sam simply shook his head, giving me the same look that he had given me when I argued about him paying for my dress. It was a look that said he wasn't going to back down, so I should just accept it.

I sighed, but nodded in acquiesce. I kept my gaze focused on the sky while Sam gently wiped my knees clean. I bit my lip against the sting of the antiseptic, feeling conflicted. I knew I could have fought harder, but I was, admittedly, grateful that he had insisted. My unease stemmed more from the look on Dean's face as he leaned against the Impala, waiting.

Needing Sam to tend to my wounds was probably just serving as confirmation of Dean's earlier comments. A Hunter couldn't be weak and my aversion to blood was undoubtedly a weakness. As accurate as his perception of me was beginning to feel, I hated that I was proving him right.

I undid my braid and shook my hair out, trying to dislodge any glass debris that might have gotten stuck in there. I was lucky that the shards hadn't been bigger and that I had managed to push Donald far enough away to prevent any real damage from the shattering sculpture.

Once Sam finished, I hopped up and slid into the backseat. As the brothers joined me in the car, I thought about how Dean had been uncharacteristically quiet while Sam took care of my knees. I glanced in the review mirror, my unease growing as Dean quickly averted his gaze without a word.

...

The brothers made a couple of calls, using fraudulent identities to gather information on Donald's whereabouts. It wasn't long before we had managed to track Donald down to a classy hotel, but before we could do more than enter the lobby, Sandra spotted us from the bar.

"Bella!" she called, sliding off of her stool and stalking toward me.

I smiled uneasily, offering an awkward wave in greeting. I was surprised when Sandra immediately pulled me into a hug.

"Oh, Bella... You were absolutely brilliant. I knew there was a reason I liked you!"

I cleared my throat.

"Is Donny okay?" I asked, relieved when she loosened her grip and leaned back.

"Yes, he is—thanks to you!" Sandra replied with a wide smile.

I tried to smile back, but I was feeling increasingly uncomfortable by her enthusiasm.

"Come—I must buy you a drink."

"I don't—"

"It's the _least_ I can do," Sandra insisted, beginning to tow me toward the bar.

I shot a pleading look over my shoulder, but the brothers simply shrugged in response. I sighed in defeat, realizing that this was probably our best bet to remain close to Donald in case the man in the black suit returned.

Donald was sitting at the bar, quietly nursing a drink. Although he looked a little ruffled—probably the result of a combination of the fall and other people worrying over him—he seemed to be alright. He smiled as we approached, his gaze briefly flickering to Sam and Dean before returning to me.

"Bella," Donald greeted, "I'm glad you're here."

"You are?" I returned reflexively, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

Donald chuckled at my expression.

"Of course! You ran off before I could properly thank you," Donald admonished.

"Oh. You don't owe me anything..."

"I owe you my life," Donald pointed out seriously. "I really can't thank you enough."

I glanced away, unnerved by Donald's stare. I really hadn't done much—just reacted. Someone else could have done the same.

"Can I get you something to drink? I know that hardly makes up for it..." Donald said earnestly.

I sighed, realizing that there probably wasn't anything I could say to deter him from the offer.

"No, it's fine," I replied honestly, resigned.

"Good," Donald smiled gratefully. He waved the bartender over. "What will you have then?"

"Just a coke."

The bartender raised an eyebrow at me, but fetched the drink as I took a seat beside Donald.

"You could've had anything you liked—my treat," Donald pointed out.

"I like the classics," I shrugged.

Donald nodded, seeming to accept that. I was glad that he hadn't tried to push me into getting something alcoholic. With a telekinetic murderer on the loose, I thought one glass of wine was enough. I didn't want to dull my senses further, no matter how tempting the idea was.

I jumped when Dean sat beside me, scraping his stool against the floor. I opened my mouth to ask what he was doing, but was interrupted when the bartender returned with my drink. The bartender paused to take Dean's order—I resisted the urge to make a comment about him having whiskey while working—before moving away.

"Hope that's just Coke," Dean commented with a smirk. "My _baby sister_ can't handle her liquor."

The stress he put on _baby sister _made me want to grind my teeth. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"You'd be surprised at what I can handle," I murmured, feeling my chin jut out in challenge.

Dean stared at me silently for a long moment, locking his gaze with mine. This time, I refused to look away. It was a strange moment, one that made my heart pound as the seconds ticked by, neither of us backing down.

Donald shifted uncomfortably behind us and just like that, Dean seemed to snap out of it.

"Aww," Dean pushed out his lips mockingly and ruffled my hair. "She's so cute when she acts tough."

I knocked Dean's hand away and glared at him, fuming as he merely smirked in response.

"So Donny," Dean leaned forward, talking around me, "you must be pretty shaken up."

"A little, but I'll be alright. Thanks to your sister," Donald smiled at me.

I cleared my throat uneasily, glancing over my shoulder and noting that Sam was sitting with Sandra at a table nearby.

"Kind of ironic though, isn't it? Nearly getting murdered by something you created," Dean commented, regaining my attention.

"Murdered?" Donald repeated in amusement. "Don't know if I'd put it like that... I doubt the faulty cables had a grudge against me," he laughed.

"Must put things in perspective for you though, doesn't it? Nearly dying like that?"

"I guess," Donald shrugged. "But my life isn't over yet. I've still got some years left."

The bartender returned with Dean's drink and Donald paused to take a swallow of his own.

"A good five years, I'd bet."

Donald choked on his drink and I shot Dean a look of disbelief, wondering if it was physically impossible for him to be subtle tonight. Dean's cocky smirk remained in place as he took a generous gulp of his drink, appearing unbothered by Donald's reaction.

"Excuse me?" Donald sputtered.

"She gave you ten didn't she?" Dean asked calmly. "You've used five already. That leaves five more."

_Ten years_, I thought, realizing that he was referring to the Crossroads Demon. I was surprised that the demon would give someone so long. Ten years was more than half my life—I could definitely understand the appeal of making a deal. Not only did the person get whatever they wanted, they got to enjoy their wish for quite some time.

"I don't—who _are_ you?" Donald demanded, glancing suspiciously between us, all traces of his previous smile gone.

"No one," Dean replied, chugging down the last of his drink.

Dean put a couple bills down for the drink and stood, before grabbing my arm and pulling me from my seat as well.

"Come on, Bella," Dean muttered, directing me toward the exit. "Sam," he called a bit louder.

"But Dean—"

"Wait! You can't just—"

Dean continued to shuffle us forward, paying no attention to my or Donald's protests. Sam followed without argument, offering Sandra a quick apologetic smile. Once we made it outside, I ripped my arm out of his grasp.

"What was that about?" Sam asked.

"I got everything we need," Dean explained, stalking over to the Impala. "We don't need to worry about him."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked as we rushed to follow him. "What about the demon?"

_Demon? Was that what that man was?_

"That kid made a deal with the Crossroads Demon," Dean threw over his shoulder in a dismissive tone, wrenching open the driver's side door.

"That doesn't mean he doesn't deserve to be saved."

Dean paused before climbing in, resting his elbows on the roof of the Impala. The atmosphere around the brothers had gone from bewildered to tense and I wasn't quite sure why. Sam's jaw was clenched as he stared hard at Dean—clearly something else was going on.

I cleared my throat uncomfortably, getting the distinct feeling that I was intruding on something private.

"Five years, ten years... It doesn't matter. The kid's dog food," Dean muttered gruffly.

I frowned at Dean, my unease growing at Sam's subtle wince. Between Dean's callous words and the tension surrounding whatever they were hiding, I was definitely becoming worried. I wanted to ask, but I was hesitant to interrupt them.

"What about the demon—the one that Bella saw?" Sam countered. "He's going after people that made deals. What if..."

"What if, what?" I asked quietly, needing to break the silence despite myself.

The brothers' gazes shot to me in surprise, almost as if they had forgotten about my presence. Sam cleared his throat.

"What if there's something else going on?" Sam's tone was subdued now, but no less determined. "We need to find him."

"Fine," Dean sighed in resignation. "But the bastard's not gonna make another move until Ketting's alone. Not after failing tonight. He'll want to make sure."

"Right," Sam agreed. "And I've got a way to get in their rooms."

Sam produced a pair of key cards from his pocket.

"Are those...?" I trailed off, my eyebrows rising in disbelief.

"You pick pocketed the agent?" Dean asked.

"I pick pocketed the agent," Sam confirmed with a small smirk.

...

As it turned out, despite Donald's artistic talents, he had a distinct lack of organizational skills. This had resulted in quite a few mishaps in which Donald had misplaced vital paperwork and the like. It was this weakness that had prompted Donald to hire Sandra, who seemed to double as his agent and personal assistant.

Sam had learned all of this from chatting with Sandra, while Dean and I were sitting at the bar with Donald. Although he couldn't have known Dean would drag us out mid-conversation, he had seen an opportunity and he took it. I was amazed that he had managed to swipe the key cards and thought about asking him to show me how he had pulled that off sometime.

It would have to wait though, as we were currently breaking into Donald Ketting's room.

I was surprised that Dean hadn't made more of a fuss about being paired with me, but then, I supposed that even he couldn't argue with logic. We needed someone to be on the lookout downstairs and since I didn't have a phone, that really only left one of the brothers. Staying downstairs with one of them would have made it more difficult to hide and watch.

Of course, the brothers could have switched places if Dean hadn't drawn so much attention to himself earlier. After his comments at the bar, it was obvious that Donald was suspicious.

I followed closely behind Dean as he did a quick sweep of the hotel room, trying not to let my amazement hinder my attentiveness. We had gotten lucky with Donald—if he hadn't been famous, he probably wouldn't have booked the hotel's best room. It had made our lives significantly easier, as we only needed to try each card key on the door to see which one worked.

Although in normal circumstances the room probably wouldn't have seemed all that extraordinary, after staying in such cramped quarters with the brothers, I could definitely appreciate its luxury. There was an actual _living room_ complete with its own couch and flat screen television, not to mention the kitchen.

I made a mental note to ask the brothers about getting a motel room with a kitchen sometime. I wasn't sure how much longer I could handle diner food. A nice, home cooked meal would definitely hit the spot.

"All clear," Dean muttered as he reentered the room.

I bit my lip sheepishly, realizing that I had let myself get sidetracked. I jerked forward when Dean grabbed a table, taking the other end to help him move it, mindful of my injured hand. Once that piece of furniture was out of the way, Dean pulled the large rug back, revealing the white carpet underneath.

I watched in disbelief as Dean pulled a can of red spray paint out of his jacket and proceeded to illustrate a strange symbol on the carpet.

"That's definitely gonna stain," I commented.

"Better paint than blood," Dean muttered.

"What is that?" I asked curiously.

"A Devil's Trap."

I stared down at the symbol, amazed that Dean could recall such intricate detail from memory.

"So we're trying to trap...a devil?" I asked in confusion.

_Hadn't they said it was a Demon?_

Dean snorted.

"It's called a Devil's Trap, but it traps Demons," he explained, rolling his eyes at my ignorance. "They step in and they're stuck."

"Oh."

Dean stared at his handiwork for a moment, before covering it with the rug. I helped him return the table to its proper place and glanced around, making sure we weren't leaving any evidence of our presence behind.

I jumped when Dean's phone rang. From the expectant look on his face, I figured it was Sam.

"Right," Dean replied, stuffing his can of spray paint back into his jacket. "Wait a few minutes and follow." Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

Dean flipped his phone shut and gestured toward the closet.

"Come on, Ketting's on his way."

I glanced back at the closet, frowning.

"You want us to hide?"

"_Yes_," Dean confirmed, rolling his eyes. "Now get in."

Dean shuffled me forward and into the closet, following closely behind. The closet was bigger than most, but it was still not really large enough for two people to fit among Donald's wardrobe. He had more clothes hung in here than I had back at the motel.

I was very aware of Dean's presence beside me and my breathing sounded very loud in the cramped space. I tried to quiet mine and listen, peering through the small opening Dean had left and wondering how long we would have to wait in here. It was uncomfortable to say the least, especially after the way Dean had been treating me. This was the closest that we had been since Kennewick and although it was subtle, I could see Dean inching away.

I frowned at that, noting his tense shoulders. I might have blamed it on the situation if he wasn't pressing himself so thoroughly against the opposite wall, preventing any part of our bodies from connecting. Considering how small the closet was, that was quite the feat.

It had been obvious from the beginning what his problem was, after all, he hadn't started acting this way until he learned about Edward. Judging from his current behavior, the idea must've really disgusted him if he couldn't bear to be near me even for this brief amount of time.

Despite my resolve not to let Dean get to me, that realization hurt. Truthfully, it all did. It didn't matter how many times I told myself not to feel bothered by his treatment because I did. In this moment of forced silence with Dean avoiding me like the plague, I just couldn't ignore it anymore.

The sound of a key card being thrust into the door drew me from my thoughts—Donald must've gotten himself a replacement—and I held my breath as it finally opened. Donald strolled in, kicking the door shut behind him as he whistled a tune I didn't recognize. I watched as he suddenly stopped, almost as if he had run into an invisible barrier.

Donald bent down and kicked the rug beneath him out of the way, revealing the marked carpet. He sighed in annoyance, his gaze flitting across the room.

"Clever," Donald remarked, staring pointedly at the closet we were occupying. "Come out, come out, wherever you are..." he sang.

I followed Dean reluctantly as he pushed the door open and emerged, confused by this turn of events.

"Ah, Dean Winchester," Donald acknowledged, before his gaze shifted to me and narrowed. "And _you_."

I stared at Donald, unnerved by the look he was giving me—so very different from the pleased smile he usually wore. It was different than the suspicion that had been on his features when Dean and I left him at the bar.

"I don't understand," I admitted. "What's wrong with Donny?"

"He's not Donny anymore," Dean said. "He's being possessed by the Demon."

I watched in shock as Donald's eyes went black—much darker than a thirsty vampire—before reverting back to normal.

"Right you are," Donald smirked. "Where's Sammy? Did you get yourself a new sidekick?" Donald sneered, shooting a pointed look at me.

I averted my gaze, noting the way Dean quirked an unnervingly crooked smile.

"Don't worry, Sam's on his way. Why, were you hoping for an autograph?"

Donald smirked, but didn't comment.

"So what's the deal with the freak accidents? You're breaching an awful lot of contracts."

"And they say Sam's the clever one."

"Must be bad for business," Dean continued, ignoring Donald's jab.

I stood nearby, watching Dean banter with Donald uneasily. I lifted my hand to brush my hair out of my face, wishing I could contribute to this in some way. I tensed when I noticed Donald following the movement with his intense gaze and let my hand fall to my side. When Donald continued to stare, his gaze now clearly focused on my scar, I covered it with my other hand.

Donald hummed in response to Dean's comment and although he seemed to refocus on him, I had the distinct feeling that he was still watching me. Dean produced a flask out of his pocket and I frowned, wondering if now was really the time for a drink.

I flinched when Donald suddenly howled as Dean flicked the liquid across his face.

"What _is_ that?"

"Holy water," Dean replied matter-of-factly as he jerked his wrist again, before pulling a book out of his jacket and beginning to chant.

Judging by the strange words—_Latin_, my mind supplied—I figured it was an exorcism ritual.

I watched in horrified fascination as Donald writhed, acting as if the holy water burned his skin like acid. His teeth were clenched as his body shuddered in pain, Dean's carefully recited Latin bringing him to his knees.

I wanted to look away. Every fiber of my being was telling me to close my eyes, but I couldn't. I couldn't stop watching as Dean tortured Donald with a calmness that nearly made me sick. I understood that Dean's actions were necessary and that he was in fact saving quite a few lives, but I couldn't stop myself from picturing Edward in Donald's place.

That thought made my heart clench painfully and gave me the will to finally tear my gaze away. I edged around the trap, mindful of my steps. I didn't want to get too close and turn this into a hostage situation, but I needed to get out of this room.

Dean didn't pause in his chant even as I slipped through the door. I leaned against a nearby wall, sliding to the floor as Donald's aguish continued to assault my eardrums. I was amazed that no one could hear them, but then, this was a rather secluded floor.

I rubbed my eyes furiously, needing to remove the image of Edward kneeling in Donald's place out of my mind. My heart thundered in my chest, my hands shaking as I felt true fear for the first time since leaving with the brothers.

I had never worried about them hurting me, but I just _knew_ that if they were ever to get their hands on Edward, they probably wouldn't even hesitate to dispatch him. Regardless of how I felt about him, he was just a vampire to them—a monster that they needed to hunt.

I felt sick. There was a rushing in my ears that I tried to drive away as I fought for a calmness that wouldn't come.

I thought of the ghost of Derek Denasy and how the brothers had burned his bones, sending him who knows where. He hadn't done anything wrong—in fact, he had actually helped us figure out what was going on—but that hadn't mattered. The brothers couldn't risk leaving him alone for fear that he would eventually become hostile.

If the brothers could do that to an innocent child, then Edward didn't stand a chance.

I couldn't seem to calm down—the adrenaline continued to pump through my veins and I nearly felt the urge to run. The thoughts about Edward certainly weren't helping and I could imagine his hard gaze staring down at me, condemning me once again for my weakness. I could almost hear—

I froze.

I don't know how I hadn't noticed it before. There had been so many opportunities—when Joseph Clancy Jr. attacked me, during Jacob's rampage through the forest, as Gretchen towered over me and demanded answers that I didn't have—and it hadn't happened.

Not once.

I stared down at my hands, feeling a tear slide down my cheek as I came to the crippling realization that I was no longer hearing Edward's voice.

"_Oh god_."

...

**I have begun posting the comic book companion to this story. The link is on my profile.**

**I apologize for the wait. I lost a good chunk of my recent work (including two Dean/Bella stories) to technical difficulties. Luckily, I've been backing up this story like crazy and therefore only lost one scene (and a wonderfully detailed outline for this story's episodes). Still, I've been so heartbroken that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to write.**

**On a side note, if you find yourself obsessing over this story and wishing for an update on my progress, feel free to follow me on twitter. I post almost exclusively about my writing, including updates on the current word count for the chapter I am working on. Tweets pertaining to this story will usually have "SSV" at the end.**


	21. The Forked Road: Part IV

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><span>_"The Forked Road"_

I sat there, staring fixatedly at my scar—the only reminder I had that the Cullens had been real—willing Edward's voice to return. I didn't notice Sam until he spoke.

"Bella?"

I could detect the concern in his voice and I tried to rearrange my features into an expression that was less shocked, desperate, and just plain _horrified_.

"I'm fine."

My voice sounded calm, despite the lump in my throat. I didn't know how I was managing it, speaking as if my world wasn't crashing down around me, but judging by the familiar numbness that I could feel just at the edge of my reach, I had a pretty good idea.

"I'm fine," I repeated. "Go," I insisted, nodding at the door. "Dean needs you."

I could tell Sam didn't believe me, but I also knew that these were the magic words. If there was one thing I had learned during my time with Sam and Dean, it was that they would do anything for each other. They didn't say it in so many words, but their bond was evident to anyone who had been around them for longer than five minutes.

Sam looked suspicious, as if he recognized what I was doing, but that didn't stop him from entering the room.

"So why the piano, the curling iron, the sculpture? Why not just break in one night and slit their throats?" Dean asked as Donald's howls quieted.

"We've all got our kinks." I could hear the smirk in Donald's voice. "Besides, what would be the fun in something so quiet as that?"

I couldn't believe that anyone would associate slitting someone's throat as _quiet_.

"You want the attention," Sam realized. "But why?"

I clenched my eyes shut as Donald's pained moans resumed when he remained silent for too long.

"To piss _her_ off," Donald finally gritted out.

"Her?"

"_She _holds all of the contracts. Each soul she claims gives her more power. If the contract's broken, she can't collect."

"Who is she?"

Another bout of tortured screams filled the silence and I just couldn't take it anymore. I staggered to my feet, casting one last glance at the door before fleeing down the hallway. I managed to make out Donald's answer before reaching the elevator.

"_Lilith_," he hissed.

...

I watched the bright red numbers count down, anxious to make it to the bottom floor. I was relieved when the doors finally slid open and wasted no time in hurrying across the lobby, wondering how long it would take for Sam and Dean to notice my absence.

It was only when I made it outside that I remembered that I had nowhere to go. I was in _Mississippi_ for god's sake, and I was completely, utterly, alone.

I stood there, my breathing becoming labored when a taxi pulled up and a couple emerged, neither of them paying me much attention as they moved passed. I stared at the taxi for a moment as it remained idle, before I was suddenly moving forward and sliding into the backseat.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

The words came out without real thought, but once they did, I realized that it was exactly where I needed to go.

"Lloyd's bar."

...

I dug my fingers into the ground, feeling bits of gravel lodge themselves uncomfortably underneath my nails. It didn't take long for me to reach the box with the various occult items inside, but I hesitated before adding my license.

I was alone out here with only the moon to give me light, my heart pounding in my chest. Yet, despite the adrenaline and the dangerous situation I was about to put myself in, everything remained horribly silent. The reminder that Edward's voice had finally abandoned me too gave me the resolve to drop it in.

I reburied the box and stood, my gaze searching the clearing for some difference or an indication that it had worked. For several long moments, there was nothing, until I suddenly felt as if I was being watched. I whipped around, gasping when I came face-to-face with a pretty brunette woman in a little black dress.

"Bella Swan...as I live and breathe."

I watched as her eyes suddenly flashed red, much like Donald's had turned black.

"Well. Figuratively, anyway," she smirked. "Never expected to see you here."

"You...you know who I am?" I asked, surprised.

"I make it a habit of keeping an eye on the Winchester boys," she explained.

Despite my having fled from Sam and Dean, I didn't like the sound of that. I was sure that the brothers wouldn't either.

"You're a peculiar thing, aren't you?" she remarked, strolling closer.

"Excuse me?"

"The Cold One who loved his singer. That's what they're calling you two."

"They?"

"Other demons."

"You...talk about me?" I asked, incredulously.

I remembered the way Donald had stared at me at the hotel. He must've known about me too. The idea of a bunch of demons discussing my love life was unnerving.

"Of course. There are even some bets going. Personally, I thought the two of you would pull through. I guess I was wrong, wasn't I?" she replied with a knowing look.

I tried not to think about what she knew and focused on why I was here. Sensing my shift in mood, she leveled her gaze onto me.

"Why have you called me here? Last I heard, you were getting cozy with the elder Winchester."

_You obviously haven't been paying that much attention then_, I thought.

I took a deep breath.

"I need something."

"We all need something. You need to be a bit more specific."

She moved a few steps away, glancing at me out of the corner of her eyes.

"You want Edward back," she deduced. "I can make that happen."

I chewed on my bottom lip and stared at her with furrowed brows, realizing how surreal this situation was. After months of anguishing over Edward's departure, I couldn't believe that it could be so easy, that regaining everything I had lost was actually within my grasp.

"And the...the price?" I asked.

"Ten long years in exchange for your soul."

Ten years still sounded like quite a bit of time, but now that I was standing here on the brink of making such a deal, a little hesitancy was beginning to filter passed the desperate and panicked thoughts that had driven me to this clearing.

"All you have to do to seal the deal is plant one right here," she smirked, indicating her lips.

My eyes widened in disbelief. I don't know what I had expected—maybe signing a contract in my own blood—but a _kiss_ certainly hadn't been it.

"What's wrong? You've kissed a vampire, surely a demon wouldn't make you squeamish. Or is it the meat suit? A little too feminine for your taste?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

For a brief moment, I forgot my own problems and I thought about the woman the Crossroads Demon was possessing. Was she aware of what was happening around her—to her?

"Don't worry, honey. I'm about as feminine as a bulldog. I'm certainly more masculine than your sparkling ex."

I frowned at that, but chose not to comment.

As I stood there about to make one of the biggest decisions of my life, I felt a strong sense of _wrongness_ wash over me. I knew I wanted this—had wanted this for so very long—but deep down I couldn't shake the feeling that this was an extremely bad idea.

Going back to the way things were and preventing Edward from leaving would give me that life back, but what about the one I was living now? Would I remember the ghosts, the witch, and the demons? Would I remember that triumph I felt over doing something so simple as purchasing my own clothes?

If I went back, would the brothers still show up to stop Laurent? By ensuring that Edward and the Cullens never left, would I actually be putting them in more danger?

What about Edward? He had left because he didn't think I was good enough for him. Would I be condemning him to a life with me, a mediocre human? I hated when others made my decisions for me. By making this deal, was I taking _his_ choice away?

All of these thoughts were suddenly pushing their way to the forefront of my mind, increasing my doubt with each second.

"I don't have all night..." she sang, shooting me a pointed look.

I opened my mouth, uncertain of what I was actually going to say, when a pair of headlights shone through the darkness. I cringed as Dean slammed his door shut—hard enough to express his anger without causing damage to his beloved car. For one crazy moment, I thought about surging forward and completing the deal before Dean could reach us, but quickly dismissed that idea as Dean stalked over.

"Dean...long time no see," the Crossroads Demon smiled.

I glanced between them in confusion, feeling uneasy about their familiarity. Dean ignored her and I gasped when he grabbed my arm, beginning to pull me toward the Impala. It took a moment for the shock to wear off, but once it did, I sunk my heels into the gravel.

"Dean," I gritted out, "Let _go_."

Dean's jaw was set as he glared down at me, but I wasn't going to let him treat me like a ragdoll. After everything he had put me through these last several days, I was truly fed up. I didn't have to worry about being left behind by him anymore because I had _options_.

I actually enjoyed travelling with them and saving lives, but Dean had said it himself—I wasn't a Hunter. If I couldn't have that kind of life, then I would take my old one back. Although I was hesitant to actually make the deal, I _refused_ to be left behind in Forks to rot.

_Not again_, I thought.

"Get in the car, _Bella_," Dean ground out, his tone booking no argument.

"_No_."

"I will carry you if I have to," Dean threatened, an evil glint in his eye.

I glared up at him.

"I would advise against that," the Crossroads Demon spoke, her voice full of warning. "Bella's a big girl. She summoned me and if she wants to make a deal, then I won't let you interfere with that."

I stared at her, shocked that she was actually defending my right to make my own choices. While I knew that she was just interested in gaining my soul, it was still surprising, especially considering how many times the supposedly _good_ guys had tried to make my decisions for me.

"As hot as that make-out session would be..."

My eyes widened when Dean pulled out his gun, aiming at the Crossroads Demon. She didn't even flinch at the introduction of a weapon, maintaining eye contact.

"Those bullets won't work on me," she pointed out with an amused smirk.

"No, but it'll be harder for you two to kiss with a face full of lead."

"Dean, stop it."

He kept his gaze focused on the Crossroads Demon, his finger resting purposefully on the trigger.

"I don't know what kind of crap deal you're trying to make," Dean said gruffly. "But I'm not gonna let you throw away your soul for a goddamn _vampire_."

I clenched my jaw and angrily ripped my arm out of his grasp.

"It's _my_ soul. I'll do what I want with it," I gritted out.

I was so tired of everyone worrying so much over my soul—first Edward, now Dean.

"Oh, Dean. Such a hypocrite," the Crossroads Demon sighed, shaking her head.

I looked sharply at Dean, confusion momentarily overpowering my anger.

"What is she talking about?"

"Nothing," Dean muttered.

"Don't want Bella to know about the deal _you_ made?"

"What? You made a deal?"

To say I was shocked was an understatement. Dean glared at the Crossroads Demon, but didn't deny it.

"You made a deal," I repeated, astonished. "And now you're trying to tell me I shouldn't?"

"It was different—"

"It's always different with you, isn't it?" I pointed out, bitterly. "It's okay for _you_ to risk your life and make deals with Demons. But not for me, right? Because I'm not a Hunter?" I bit out. "Well you know what else I'm not? A _child_."

"Goddamn it Bella, just listen—"

"_No_. I'm done listening to you," I snapped. "You know, there's a difference between _coddling_ someone and lashing out at them." Dean grimaced, realizing I had overheard his conversation with Sam. "All you've done since you found out about Edward is put me down and I'm sick of it."

Dean averted his gaze uncomfortably, but I kept going. I had remained mostly quiet about Dean's behavior, but now that I had broken that silence, I couldn't seem to stop.

"You have _no_ idea what our relationship was like," I pointed out. "You want to know the truth?"

I took a deep breath, feeling a telltale prickle behind my eyes.

"He was _good_. He saved my life so many times. He even went against his own nature by feeding only on _animals_. And—" my voice cracked, "—he's the only one who ever made me feel special," I admitted quietly, shocked by that realization. "Like I wasn't just some freak."

Dean was quiet for a few moments, but when he finally did speak, he said the last thing I had expected from him.

"You're not a freak."

"Yeah...right," My laugh was shaky and lacked any real humor. "I'm such a freak that I keep driving everyone away. First Edward, then Jacob, and...then it'll be you and Sam."

I swallowed passed the lump in my throat, steeling myself.

"Well I'm not going to let you _abandon_ me too," I spat the word. "I'll die before I let anyone leave me behind in Forks again."

I turned away from Dean, feeling like I had gotten a huge weight off of my chest, a new sense of resolve filling me. I meant what I said—regardless if it did sound a touch dramatic—and if this was the only way to get what I wanted, then so be it. I would rather spend ten years feeling loved than fifty all alone.

I had barely taken a step before Dean grabbed my arm again and I opened my mouth, prepared to tell him off. He used his grip to whip me back around and I squeaked as the momentum caused me to crash into his body. My protests died in my throat when Dean's mouth was suddenly covering mine.

It barely lasted a moment and my eyes remained opened wide the entire time, unable to believe what was actually happening. It felt like my brain had checked out by the time he retreated, leaving only one coherent thought.

"You kissed me," I breathed incredulously.

_When had my breathing become so labored?_

Although I was certain that he knew that, I couldn't stop myself from pointing it out. Despite being on the other end of said kiss, I couldn't quite believe it myself.

"Yes, I did," he nodded simply.

"Why did you kiss me?"

"You're not a freak," Dean replied seriously.

I raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief.

"Okay, you are kind of a freak," he conceded. "But not in a bad way."

I frowned, uncertain of how being a freak could ever be considered _good_.

"One minute you're just this...mousy girl...and in the next, you're firing my shotgun at a ghost like a badass," Dean tried to explain, his tone beginning to sound as bewildered as I felt.

I continued to stare at him, unable to comprehend what he was saying to me.

"Look...I'm not good at this emotional crap."

"Obviously," I replied without thinking. "You kissed me. To...make a point?"

I was certain that if I wasn't so shocked, I would feel very angry over that. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Don't try to pretend you didn't enjoy it," Dean smirked, waggling his eyebrows at me as he once again tried to make light of a tense situation with humor.

"You don't kiss people to make a point."

Dean scoffed. "What—would you have rather it been Donald Duck?"

"I didn't—I didn't _need_ anyone to kiss me!"

I was beginning to question whether any of this had been real—this conversation was too ridiculous to actually be happening.

"You're mooning over a vampire—obviously you haven't been kissed enough."

"I'm not—" I broke off, finally registering what he had said a few moments ago. "Donald Duck?" I repeated.

Suddenly, we were both laughing and although I recognized that none of our problems had really been solved, I felt the tension begin to melt away. I could barely stand under the weight of my own giggles and Dean continued to chuckle much the same—our laughter fueling the other's when we tried to calm down.

Although I had been bothered by Dean's distance, I didn't realize how much I had missed this—the banter and laughter. It wasn't until much later that I noticed the Crossroads Demon had gone and I was uncertain of how long we had been alone. I was too emotionally exhausted to give it much thought, though later I would wonder why she had disappeared after warning Dean not to interfere.

I watched Dean dig up the box and tried not to think too much about the kiss or how his fingers brushed mine when he handed me my license.

...

After picking up Sam and receiving a stern talking to for running off—it appeared that Dean had neglected to tell Sam where he had found me, much to my relief—we found ourselves once again sitting at a table in a local diner.

"The Demon must've switched bodies when Donald went to the bathroom," Sam was saying. "There was a call about someone finding a dead body that matched Bella's description in one of the stalls. It's a good thing you left when you did. There were cops swarming the place."

"How's Donny?" I asked, unable to deny my curiosity, though I was a little worried to hear the answer.

"He's fine," Sam assured me. "A little shaken up, but the Demon wasn't in him long enough to cause any lasting damage."

I nodded, absently picking at my food as I thought about the last time I had seen Donald. Although watching him writhe in agony had been terrible, I was beginning to wonder if I had overreacted. After all, though it had been Donald's body twisting in pain, it wasn't really _him_, right?

"So...the um," I hesitated, "the holy water and the...ritual...they didn't...hurt him?" I asked quietly, already cringing over what the answer might be.

"No," Sam replied gently. "Those only hurt the Demon."

I sighed in relief, feeling my shoulders sag. I realized that part of the reason I had been so bothered by the brothers' actions was due to my own guilt for not trying to stop them. Learning that none of it had actually caused Donald pain was a huge load off of my mind.

I was still worried about Edward—there was no way I couldn't be after tonight—but I hoped that maybe Dean had actually listened to what I said in that clearing. Although the way Edward had left all of those months ago had been very cold, he wasn't evil.

I hadn't gone through with the deal, but perhaps I would have if I hadn't been so thoroughly shocked by Dean's actions. I didn't think so though, not when there was so much uncertainty. Although regaining Edward's loving presence that way had been very tempting, there was a distinct possibility that it would have led to his death if I did.

I remembered the way Laurent had looked—frozen in shock, his gaze the only part of him able to show his horror—as Sam and Dean burned him alive. Staying with the brothers would not only give me a feeling of purpose in my life, but would ensure that I would be present should they ever come across Edward or the Cullens.

...

I sat outside the motel room, leaning against the wall. It felt wonderful to be out of that dress and back into a baggy shirt and pajama pants, though I had to admit that wearing the former hadn't been as bad as I had thought it would be. Although I still preferred casual comfort to formal wear, I think that being the one in control of my outfit had made it a little easier to handle.

I took a deep breath, reflecting over what had happened tonight. As much as it pained me to notice Edward's voice was gone, I recognized that I might have overreacted a bit. It was a staggering realization to come to, but I shouldn't have run off.

I rubbed at my eyes, unsurprised to realize I was crying. I was grateful for the lack of heart-wrenching sobs I was used to in moments like this, though it didn't make the pain feel any less potent. It almost felt like I was losing him again, but not quite.

It was hard to focus on the loss of Edward's voice with the memory of Dean's kiss whirling through my thoughts. I knew that it hadn't meant anything—just a means to an end for him—but I couldn't stop thinking about my reaction.

I was shocked when he had kissed me, but then, I had felt that way with Jacob too. So, why hadn't I reacted the same? Why hadn't I felt overwhelmed by anger the way I had then? What was so different about Dean's kiss than the one Jacob had forced on me?

I stiffened when I heard Dean's door open and quickly wiped away my tears as he emerged. He glanced my way, freezing in surprise when he noticed me sitting there. I stared straight ahead, hoping to hide the fact that I had been crying.

I watched from the corner of my eye as Dean paused, obviously debating something, before seeming to come to some sort of decision. I tried to relax as he moved closer, not wanting him to notice my uneasiness when he sat down beside me.

We were silent for a long moment, before Dean decided to break it.

"What're you doing out here?"

"Getting some air." I flinched at the way my voice cracked. "You?"

"The same," he shrugged.

Silence descended again and I was reminded of the last time I had sat outside a motel room. Sam had been the one to keep me company then and although it had been a little different than this, I was struck with the similarities between them.

Despite how amicable things ended in the clearing, I found myself at a loss of what to say to him now. It was nice to have finally gotten all of those issues off of my chest, but now I was feeling uncomfortable with how much I had revealed.

I was also distinctly aware that he hadn't apologized for his behavior, though I supposed that he might have in his own way. I wasn't going to hold my breath for the actual words, at any rate. Still, it left me unsettled. I didn't know how to feel about what had happened tonight.

Was I relieved that Dean had stopped me from making that deal or disappointed? Would I have really been able to go through with it if he hadn't been there?

"What did you trade your soul for?" I asked, my voice soft.

Dean was quiet for so long that I had given up on receiving an answer when he finally spoke.

"Sam's life."

My head snapped towards him, too shocked to worry about hiding the evidence of my tears with that revelation. Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, exhaling loudly.

"He got stabbed. By this...this guy. I was too late. He died. In my arms. So...I made a deal to bring him back."

Dean spoke matter-of-factly, his words almost disjointed as his expression remained stoic.

I felt terrible then, both for the way I had reacted when the Crossroads Demon had mentioned Dean's deal and for my own selfish endeavors to trade my soul. Although my fear over Edward's safety had been part of what prompted me to flee to that clearing, he was right—his situation had been different.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but one look from Dean had me closing it. It was a look that said—_don't_. Although I felt guilty, I think I understood what he meant. He knew that I regretted the things I had said, the same way I knew that he had regretted his behavior toward me. Perhaps we didn't need to say the words.

Still, it felt unsettling to do nothing, so I decided to try something I probably wouldn't have if he hadn't already invaded my space earlier. I patted his shoulder in what I hoped was a comforting gesture, though I think it came across more awkward than anything.

I blushed as Dean quirked an eyebrow at me and quickly removed my hand. I let both my gaze and my hand fall into my lap, clearing my throat in embarrassment, already regretting my attempt at offering comfort.

My gaze snapped to him in surprise when he bumped my shoulder with his, an amused smile quirked on his lips. I found myself smiling back, not quite minding when his shoulder settled fully against mine and remained.

No, my problems hadn't really been solved tonight and I definitely wasn't alright with losing Edward's voice, but I didn't mind letting myself get distracted by Sam and Dean's surprisingly comforting presence.

...

**This concludes the third episode. The next will be coming soon, as I've had most of it outlined for ages. Of course, that outline was among the many things I lost to the technical difficulties I mentioned last chapter, so it might take time for me to recreate it.**

**I should also warn you that since the Fall semester is about to start, it's unlikely that I will be able to maintain my weekly updates.**

**Characters:**

-—_Dean Winchester_  
>-—<em>Sam Winchester<em>  
>-—<em>Bella Swan<em>

-Victim 1—_Johnny Sheafing_  
>-Victim 2—<em>Cecile Frost<em>  
>-Victim 3 (Potentially)—<em>Donald Ketting (DonDonny)  
><em>-Donald Ketting's Agent—_Sandra  
><em>-Motel Clerk— _Diana_  
>-Demon—<em>Unknown<br>_-Crossroads Demon—_Unknown_


	22. No Evil: Part I

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><span>_"No Evil"_

**Maple Springs, Mississippi**

The next day proved to follow the same unspoken set of guidelines the brothers had used in Spokane and Kennewick—after stopping whatever was terrorizing the town, we needed to leave as quickly and quietly as possible before people started getting suspicious.

Although last night hadn't been easy by any means, I was grateful that my exhaustion had hindered the nightmares from bleeding through. It was a little difficult to get up in the morning, but I was definitely looking forward to putting this town behind us. After grabbing a quick shower and packing up, we were back on the road.

I briefly thought of Donald and Diana, wondering how the former felt about everything that had happened to him and whether Dean had ever called the latter back. It was unnerving to realize that I hoped he hadn't.

It should have felt strange to be sitting in the back of the Impala, listening to the brothers bicker as usual. After everything that had happened last night, it seemed like there should have been some grand transformation, and yet, things felt more normal than they had in days.

If Sam noticed a difference in the atmosphere around us, he didn't comment on it. It appeared that Dean still hadn't told Sam about my almost-deal with the Crossroads Demon, which I was really grateful for. Despite my commitment to the idea last night, I was, admittedly, embarrassed about the whole ordeal.

As sad as I still felt in regards to Edward's absence from my life, I also felt foolish for my actions after learning about Dean's deal. I had so many questions I wanted to ask about Sam's death and resurrection, but I felt uncomfortable bringing it up.

Dean had stopped being especially distant and I was hesitant to do something that might break our little truce. I was also worried that asking questions about Dean's deal would prompt him to discuss what would've been mine.

Stranger still was the fact that my thoughts kept drifting back to Dean's kiss. It had barely been a kiss at all, and yet, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Sudden and brief, it had thrown me completely off guard, which I supposed had been his intention.

It wasn't so much the kiss that bothered me—though I still firmly believed that people shouldn't kiss someone just to make a point—but my reaction to it. The shock had been so overwhelming at the time that I hadn't noticed much else.

When Jacob had forced himself on me, I had felt shocked too, but there had also been anger and the sickening feeling that I had been violated once again. Memories of sexual assaulting ghosts and those men in Port Angeles had leapt immediately to mind.

Now that I had time to think about Dean's kiss, I realized that the disgust and discomfort I had felt with Jacob and the others had been curiously absent. Of course there had been anger over Dean's method of getting through to me, but not exactly with the kiss itself.

I didn't understand why. Was it because I was aware of Dean's unselfish motives behind it? I couldn't be sure. Although the kiss hadn't caused any discomfort at the time, I definitely felt unsettled now. I actually felt guilty for _not_ feeling more bothered when Dean had kissed me.

Was I betraying Edward by not feeling disgusted?

I grimaced down at my lap, feeling more unnerved by that thought than anything that had happened last night.

...

It had only taken us three hours to get to our next destination, which had been a relief after the long drive to Rosedale. I was eager to stay out of the car for as long as possible, relishing the ability to stretch my legs. I didn't know how Sam could stand it, considering how much taller he was than Dean and I.

_Practice_, I supposed.

I followed Sam and Dean tiredly as they strolled up to the main office of the next motel we would be checking into. Unlike the previous places we had stayed in, this one had a theme beyond crummy floral patterns. Although I wasn't very familiar with Asian culture, I thought the decor was probably Chinese.

There were paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling and beautiful brush paintings adorning the walls. The color scheme was mostly red and black, but it didn't feel stifling. If the rooms were decorated anything like the main office, I was definitely looking forward to staying here.

Although motel decor wasn't really important, it was nice to get away from those cheesy floral prints and pastel colors.

There was an old Chinese man standing at the front counter, marking something in what I suspected was the motel's ledger. Dean cleared his throat, drawing the old man's attention to us.

"How many rooms?" the old man asked without preamble.

"Just one room with two queens. And a cot if you've got one," Dean added.

"No cots," the old man replied promptly.

"Alright. Just the one room, then."

I was surprised that Dean hadn't opted for his own room. I wondered if it was because of what happened last night. Was he worried I might run off again?

"Wouldn't you and your wife prefer a separate room?" the old man asked.

"Not my wife," Dean replied.

The old man's gaze shifted to Sam, who shook his head too.

"Then I think it would be best if one of you accompanied your sister in another room," the old man insisted.

"Not our sister," Dean denied quickly.

I raised an eyebrow at that, wondering why Dean was so opposed to letting someone believe the very lie he had used in Rosedale. Of course, I was glad that he hadn't continued that cover here. It felt weird to think of Sam or Dean as my brother, especially after the latter had kissed me.

The old man frowned, his gaze flitting between the three of us. I cleared my throat uncomfortably, wondering what he must think. Although there wasn't anything untoward going on between the three of us, I was aware of how our arrangement might look to others.

"Look, just give us the room," Dean sighed, rolling his eyes.

For a moment, I wondered if the old man was going to refuse, but despite whatever misgivings he might have had about my sharing a room with two men, he reluctantly accepted Dean's credit card. I was curious of which false name he was using now, but thought it best not to ask, lest I ruin the scam.

_Scam_, I thought in amusement. _What has my life turned into?_

"The room will be ready in an hour. Come back then," the old man ordered, presenting Dean with a hand-written receipt.

Dean raised an eyebrow, but shrugged easily, accepting the ticket.

"Alright. We'll just go kill time at a diner or something," Dean muttered as he turned around.

Although I was interested in seeing the room, I was also getting pretty hungry. We filed out of the main office and despite my empty stomach, I couldn't help feeling a little apprehensive about what kind of wait service we would encounter this time.

...

Dean decided to stop at a local Chinese buffet, much to my relief. I didn't have to worry about being subjected to another terrible waitress and was glad to have the opportunity to serve myself. The only downside was that customers didn't have access to the beverages. I waited for one of the men behind the counter to fill my drink and after adding a couple of items to my plate, I returned to the table.

Halfway into my seat, I noticed Dean's plate and hesitated, gaping at the amount of food he had managed to pile on there. I watched him shovel food into his mouth with a pair of chopsticks, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.

Noticing my stare, Dean swallowed heavily, washing his food down with a long gulp of soda.

"What?"

"Where do you _put_ it all?" I asked in disbelief.

"It's hard to get fat when you're running around saving lives," Dean smirked.

I shook my head at him and picked up my own pair of chopsticks, shifting them in my left hand until I could grab food properly. It was awkward and nearly impossible to pick anything up, so I ended up using it as a spear.

"It's all probably going to catch up with you one day," I pointed out, using my teeth to pull a piece of chicken into my mouth.

"Yeah, probably," Dean replied quietly, chewing thoughtfully.

I sighed at the faraway look that was now on his face, realizing that I had stuck my foot in my mouth once again. Who knew if his bad habits would actually have a chance to catch up with him. For all I knew, he was already five years into his deal, same as Donald.

I tried not to think about why Dean's ticking clock bothered me more than Donald's had. I really wanted to learn more about when and how all of that had taken place, but I hated seeing that look on his face, knowing that I had put it there.

I glanced around the table, looking for something I could use to draw him from his thoughts. Finding nothing useful, my gaze settled on my straw when I suddenly came up with an idea.

I removed the wrapper and crushed it into a little ball, biting my lip as I tucked my index finger underneath my thumb. It was kind of awkward using my left hand, but I managed to flick the piece of trash at his ear.

"Did you just throw something at me?" Dean asked incredulously, snapping out of his thoughts.

I was already spearing another piece of chicken with one of my chopsticks and paused half-way to my mouth.

"What? No," I replied quickly, widening my eyes innocently. "I'm eating chicken."

Of course, I knew he wouldn't believe that lie, but that was rather the point. I wanted to distract Dean from whatever darker thoughts I had pushed him into and I figured that making a fool of myself would work as well as anything.

_I'm certainly not going to kiss him to distract him_.

The thought came unbidden and I blushed hotly, suddenly wishing that I had just left him to brood.

Dean stared at me for a long moment, making me even more uncomfortable, before bursting into laughter. I swallowed down a large gulp of soda, willing my blush to dissipate.

"Why are you eating like that?" Dean asked, pointing at me with his chopsticks.

"I'm not ambidextrous," I explained.

Dean furrowed his brows and I rolled my eyes.

"I'm right-handed," I sighed, waving said hand, which was beginning to feel more like dead weight than anything. "My left hand is next to useless."

"I wouldn't say that..." Dean shrugged. "Sometimes your left hand can be your best friend."

It took a moment for me to really register the meaning of his words, but when I did, I felt my jaw drop in disbelief.

"What the—did you just make a masturbation joke in front of Bella?" Sam asked incredulously, having reached the table in time to hear Dean's comment.

If I wasn't so surprised by said joke, I might've been offended by that.

"Did you just _say_ masturbation in front of Bella?" Dean mock-gasped, pressing a hand over his heart.

A guffaw—loud and sudden—burst from my still gaping mouth, causing both of their gazes to snap to me. I quickly slapped a hand over my mouth, as if doing so would pull that sound back in. There was a long moment of silence during which we stared at each other, before suddenly, all three of us were laughing.

We were starting to get some strange looks from the other patrons by the time we managed to compose ourselves. Sam finally took his seat beside Dean and we resumed eating, though a rogue snicker slipped out every now and then.

"I'm beginning to think I shouldn't leave you two alone," Sam smiled, shaking his head at his plate.

I nearly choked on some rice I had maneuvered into my mouth, as my thoughts immediately went to that crossroads in Rosedale. I tried not to look at Dean, hoping he hadn't noticed my reaction.

"So..." I began, hoping to change the subject. "Why are we in Maple Springs?"

I waited patiently as Sam swallowed the bite in his mouth, washing it down with a quick sip of his drink.

"There have been six cases of blindness in the last two years, all of which ended in death less than three days later. The autopsies said they died from brain hemorrhages, but all six people? In one town?"

"Sounds strange, but is it _our_ kind of strange?" Dean asked. "I mean, blindness could've just been a symptom of the brain hemorrhages that killed them, right?"

"Yeah, but get this—all of the victims died sixty hours after they went blind. _Exactly_."

"Alright, that does sound like our kind of strange," Dean conceded. "But what could do that? What could make them go blind?"

"And make it look like a brain hemorrhage," I added.

"I don't know. I think we should head over to the hospital and see what we can dig up."

"We'll need to stop by the room first," Dean pointed out, gesturing at our clothes.

I wondered what aliases we would use this time.

...

Sam and I waited by the Impala while Dean went to the main office to retrieve our keys. I flexed my injured hand, wincing at the pain that shot through my fingers when I did.

"How's your hand?" Sam asked.

"It's alright," I replied, despite my discomfort. "I've had worse."

"You've must've thrown a pretty hard punch to hurt your hand like that," Sam observed.

"Yeah, well, Charlie didn't just teach me to shoot," I smiled. "He made sure I knew how to defend myself without a gun, too."

Sam nodded, his lips quirking in a small smile.

"When I was a kid, I told my dad I was scared of the thing in my closet and he handed me a forty-five."

"Seriously?" I asked, trying to imagine Charlie doing something similar.

"Yeah. Kind of messed up, huh?" Sam replied, though I could tell the question was rhetorical.

"You know... I think that if Charlie knew what was out there, he probably would've done the same," I realized.

I really did miss Charlie. I hoped that Jacob was helping him learn to let me go, but I knew that was probably too much to hope for. I was hesitant to make contact, but I knew I would need to talk to him eventually. Of course, it had only been about a week and a half since I left Forks, so perhaps he would get over my absence in time. After all, he had done fine without me for years and I knew that I had caused him more stress than anything since Edward left.

_A week and a half_, I thought, amazed that it had only been that long.

I didn't know what it was—Sam and Dean or the danger, but something about driving around with the brothers and hunting monsters made time slow down. I didn't think it was out of boredom or anything negative, really, but a result of how we spent it. Each day felt very full, whether we were driving, waiting, or trying to figure out how someone had died.

Of course, the driving and waiting could get boring, but that was often engaging too. Sam and Dean would bicker endlessly, providing a different sort of entertainment to the rush of adrenaline I felt while facing ghosts or witches.

It didn't matter how Dean had behaved the last several days because there was an undeniable camaraderie that we experienced amidst the danger and the intrigue. Although it was obviously stronger between Sam and Dean, I felt it too.

In fact, after going through so many life or death situations with Sam and Dean, I actually felt closer to them than I ever had to Jacob, or half of the Cullens, if I was being particularly honest with myself. It was a strange, but not an entirely surprising realization to come to.

"Only one key," Dean remarked as he returned, pulling me from my thoughts.

Although I would have liked to have my own, I could appreciate the novelty of it. I had always been a fan of antiques—whether they were literary or not—so the sight of that aged key only increased my interest in seeing the room we would be using.

I trailed after the brothers, swinging my duffle bag at my side as I waited for Dean to unlock the door to our room. Dean strode in first and laid claim to one of the beds, while I took in the room, which was decorated much like the main office.

The beds were identical, each set in a black frame with intricate carvings on the headboard. The bedding was completely white and I marveled at its softness as I ran my fingers across one of the quilts. The only other white item was a single blossom resting in a black vase on top of a table. I decided to leave my bag beside it.

I slid one of the stained glass doors open to the bathroom and was surprised to find a decent sized bathtub as dark as the tiled floor. The toilet was in a separate alcove that was, thankfully, out of sight of the door, which was not quite opaque enough for my liking.

I grimaced at the bathtub, glad that I had taken a shower before leaving the motel in Rosedale. While a bath could be relaxing, it would probably be very inconvenient for three of us to try to use it during our stay. I supposed I shouldn't have been surprised at the lack of a shower though, considering how old fashioned the rest of the room was.

I jumped when I heard Dean bellow something and quickly darted back into the room.

"What's wrong?" I asked, concerned at the way Dean was pacing.

"No TV," Sam explained with a snicker.

I exhaled heavily when I realized I had been holding my breath. Of course Dean would freak out over the lack of a television. Now, I felt a little stupid for being so worried.

"Go ahead and laugh now, Sammy...because when I get bored, you're gonna be the first person I start messing with," Dean threatened, glaring at his brother.

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn't comment as he walked out of the door and quickly returned with a garment bag. I sighed at the sight of the familiar black suit, once again making a mental note to buy myself business attire at some point. I wasn't sure how long the whole intern bit would work if I looked like a raggedy teenager.

"Did you grab mine?" Dean asked from where he was reclined on his bed.

Sam chucked another garment bag at Dean's head.

"Hey!"

"Stop pouting about the TV and get dressed."

I snickered as Dean grumbled, mimicking Sam with unintelligible sounds. I cleared my throat when he shifted his glare toward me.

"Go ahead and laugh now Sweet Cheeks...because when we get some free time, we're gonna go shopping. For _clothes_," Dean grinned evilly, paraphrasing the threat he had delivered to Sam.

I grimaced at the idea of shopping again, but began to blush when I realized what he had called me. It was the first time since Dean had learned the truth about Edward that he had used his nickname for me. Although I didn't really like having my propensity to blush referenced all of the time, I couldn't help but feel relieved that he felt comfortable enough with me to use it again.

Dean strode into the bathroom, while I tried to soothe my heated skin. I cleared my throat awkwardly, keeping my gaze averted from Sam as I slowly walked over to my duffle bag. I raised an eyebrow when I found it sitting on the bed Dean had chosen, realizing he must've put it there.

My blush increased ten-fold as I recalled the kiss and resisted the urge to groan aloud. It was awkward enough sharing a bed with him before—how was I supposed to do it now with that memory constantly pushing its way to the forefront of my mind?

...

"Detectives Turner and Bachman—and this is one of our lead analysts, Miss Thornton," Dean introduced. "We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Certainly," Dr. Harvey replied. "It's about time the CDC started looking into this."

The brothers exchanged a quick look, before we followed. I fell into step with Dean and waited until Dr. Harvey was far enough away that he wouldn't hear us.

"Lead analyst?" I hissed at him. "What happens if he asks me something technical?"

"Guess you'll have to wing it then, won't you, Sweet Cheeks?" Dean smirked, unbothered.

"Now that you're not...giving me the silent treatment, are you going to pepper that into every sentence?" I wondered aloud.

Dean's smirk grew wider.

"Maybe I will, Sweet Cheeks. Maybe I will..."

I rolled my eyes at him and contemplated what an analyst for the Center of Disease Control should know. They probably spent their time analyzing diseases—how they're contracted, spread, and cured. Although I probably knew a little, I didn't think I could recall that information off of the top of my head. In fact, I was having trouble even remembering any diseases at the moment.

"Relax," Dean whispered, drawing me out of my increasingly panicked thoughts.

I took a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. I could handle this—Sam and Dean lied their way through similar situations all of the time. I could do this.

"I'm afraid the latest victim has already been cremated, but I can certainly show you my notes," Dr. Harvey explained apologetically when we reached his office.

"We appreciate any information you can give us," Sam replied.

"We'd also like copies of all of the autopsy reports," Dean added.

"I'll have my assistant get started on that," Dr. Harvey replied, pausing in his shuffling to press a button on his intercom. "Leslie, would you please make copies of the medical files for the blind cases?"

"Sure thing, Dr. Harvey," a feminine voice answered promptly.

I glanced around the room, noting the clutter of medical textbooks and various articles. Judging by the state of Dr. Harvey's office, he obviously spent quite a bit of time doing research. The doctor spent a few minutes leafing through the folders on his desk before he finally found the one he was looking for.

"I examined half of the victims myself and not one of them showed a physical sign of blindness," Dr. Harvey revealed as Sam started skimming through his notes.

Sam, Dean, and I glanced at each other in surprise. Although the brothers suspected a supernatural cause, it was still interesting to learn that the victims' blindness was medically unaccounted for.

"Do you think they were faking it, then?" Dean asked.

"All six of them?" Dr. Harvey clarified, incredulously. "No. If any of them were, then they deserved an Oscar for their performance."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, how do you think you would react if you had suddenly lost your sense of sight for seemingly no reason?" Dr. Harvey sighed, removing his glasses for a moment to rub between his eyes. "I ran every test I could think of, but they all came up negative. Without a proper diagnosis..."

"You couldn't really do anything," I surmised.

I could understand his frustration—there was nothing worse than feeling useless.

"Not without putting their lives at further risk," Dr. Harvey confirmed.

"But according to the autopsy reports, all of the victims died of a brain hemorrhage. Why wouldn't you just check for that?" Dean wondered.

"I did," Dr. Harvey replied, his tone a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. "I ordered MRIs and CTs, but all of them came back negative. According to the scans, none of the victims should have hemorrhaged and certainly not so quickly."

"That's...really strange."

"So if the CDC has decided to get involved, does that mean you have an idea of what's causing this?" Dr. Harvey asked, his gaze settling on me, much to my chagrin. "Is this a new virus? A brain parasite?"

"Uh," I hesitated, clearing my throat. "Um...we're not sure. Yet."

I fidgeted under Dr. Harvey's gaze, feeling like an idiot.

"You'll know as soon as we do," Sam added.

I offered Sam a grateful smile and shot a quick glare at Dean for putting me in this position in the first place. Dean just grinned, obviously amused by the situation.

"Jerk," I muttered under my breath, stealing Sam's name for Dean almost reflexively.

Judging from the way Sam's lips quirked up in response, I hadn't spoken as quietly as I would have liked. I blushed in embarrassment, but Dean just rolled his eyes, his smile remaining firmly in place.

...

**Timeline:**

**March 4th — The Meadow Scene with Laurent**

**March 4th-7th — Spokane, Washington**

**March 7th-12th — Kennewick, Washington**

**March 13th-15th — Rosedale, Mississippi**

**March 15th — Maple Springs, Mississippi**

**Sam and Dean used Detective Bachman and Detective Turner as their aliases in "Malleus Maleficarum" (Season 3, episode 9).**

**The setting for "Bedtime Stories" (Season 3, episode 5) was in Maple Springs, Mississippi, but this is not a rewrite of that episode.**


	23. No Evil: Part II

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><span>_"No Evil"_

"What do we know about the victims? Any connections?" Dean asked.

"So far, there doesn't seem to be. Four tourists and two locals... Different ages, different genders," Sam replied.

"Six different genders?"

Sam rolled his eyes, but otherwise chose to ignore Dean's comment.

"What about careers?" I asked, thinking about how that ended up being very important in Rosedale.

"Looks like two of them were escorts, but that's it. The rest range."

"Escorts? You mean hookers?" Dean asked with sudden interest.

"I meant _escorts_," Sam corrected.

I shook my head, not surprised that Dean would choose to focus on that aspect of the case.

"Anyway," Sam stressed the word, glancing pointedly at Dean, "that's the only connection I've been able to find between any of them."

"So we've got nothing to go on, other than all of them going blind and dying sixty hours later," Dean surmised.

"Pretty much," Sam confirmed.

"Great," Dean sighed. "We've got no leads and no TV. At least this place has a minibar..."

Dean pulled out a couple of beers and a Coke, tossing one of the former to Sam and the latter to me. While Sam deftly caught his midair, I fumbled. I glared at the fallen soda, trying to ignore Dean's snort as I leaned over to pick the bottle up from the floor.

"You could've handed it to me," I grumbled, watching the foam surge toward the top.

"You've gotta learn how to catch sometime, Sweet Cheeks," Dean replied, popping the cap off of his beer.

"Throwing stuff at me isn't going to help," I pointed out.

Along with fishing and shooting, Charlie had tried to add football to our list of father-daughter activities. I wasn't entirely horrible at fishing, but his only real success had been with the gun, despite my initial fear of holding a firearm. After years of being unable to catch a simple ball, I had been extremely nervous about handling something so dangerous.

That nervousness—that definitive knowledge that one unintentional movement could end a life—should have left me a quivering mess, but somehow, it had the opposite effect. When I held a gun, I felt this inner calmness and strength that quite honestly frightened me a little.

"There has to be something..." Sam trailed off, frowning at his laptop screen. "Some kind of connection. Six people don't just go blind and die sixty hours later."

"We need to split up. I'll take the hookers," Dean offered with a grin.

"Fine," Sam sighed after a moment, begrudgingly. "Bella will go with you."

I grimaced at both the way Sam had said that and what I suspected would be an emphatic protest from Dean. I was surprised when Dean only raised an eyebrow. Sam glanced up from his screen at the feel of his brother's gaze and rolled his eyes.

"Come on. We both know you're gonna get distracted. At least Bella will be able to keep you focused."

I stared at Sam in disbelief, wondering if he had me confused with someone else.

"I don't need a babysitter," Dean grumbled.

I felt a smile quirk my lips, unable to ignore the humor in watching Dean complain about being treated like a child when that was how they tended to view me. It was strange, but more than a little refreshing to see our roles reversed, regardless if I agreed with Sam about my capabilities.

I cringed as I finally opened my soda, sighing in relief when it didn't explode. I took a generous swallow, watching Sam shutdown his laptop while Dean made himself presentable again. I frowned down at my clothes, hoping that Dean's threat about a shopping trip was empty.

...

"Larry's Lascivious Ladies," Dean read aloud, one hand on the wheel while the other held his notebook aloft.

My hands were gripping the side of the door.

"Lascivious?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"I know. I hate it when they try to sound classy."

"I don't know if I'd call using alliteration and a word usually found in trashy romance novels _classy_," I replied, looking out the window.

I glanced back at Dean when I felt his gaze.

"What?"

"You really sound like Sammy, sometimes."

"Is that a bad thing?" I asked.

Though I wasn't sure I agreed with his assessment, I was more interesting in hearing his reasoning than arguing.

"Not unless you start acting like a sap," Dean replied after a moment, shrugging.

Not for the first time, Dean reminded me of one of those hardboiled detectives. I wondered if he had a fascination with them or had actively tried to emulate them over the years. Despite the way he had grown up, there must have been a time when he wasn't jaded.

"I don't think Sam is a sap," I frowned. "Compassionate, maybe."

Dean snickered.

"Compassionate's just another word for sap."

I stared at him—noting the quirk of his lips, but also the set of his jaw. I had a feeling that he was more serious about this than he was letting on. Did he really feel that way?

"Caring about other people isn't a bad thing," I said.

If Dean was affected by my words, he didn't show it.

"We're here," he announced, changing the subject.

...

The place did look kind of classy, despite the images the business' name had suggested. Instead of the deep burgundy and gold drapery I had expected—for some reason, the word _lascivious_ had conjured an Aladdin-themed pornography in my head—the decor was rather unassuming. The black and white design made the operation seem respectable.

I wondered what the existence of a place like this said about the locals.

When the woman at the front desk caught sight of us, she covered the mouthpiece of her headset and tilted the microphone away.

"I'm sorry, it'll be a few minutes," she whispered apologetically. "Please feel free to look through our catalog while you wait."

The woman handed Dean a black portfolio, before promptly returning to her phone call. I stepped closer as he began to flip through the pages of what appeared to be a documentation of every woman they employed. The photographs were obviously professionally done and the descriptions of each woman were explicit in detail, right down to the length of her toes.

Larry's Lascivious Ladies' was either remarkably thorough or they dealt regularly with customers who had a foot fetish. When I noticed a spot designated for the quantity of moles, I figured it was the former.

"That's insane," I muttered, astonished.

"It's...Disneyland," Dean breathed in awe. "This is my Disneyland."

I supposed that I shouldn't have been surprised over Dean's reaction. Between the shameless flirting with any female with a pulse and his belief that kissing a person in order to make a point was _fine_—definitely not—of course this place would appeal to him.

I glanced at the photo of the woman whose page he had paused on and frowned. The woman must've been my complete opposite. Something about that realization was very unpleasant.

"Who needs Busty Asian Beauties when you've got this?" Dean mumbled to himself.

I grimaced at the mention of what could only be a pornographic site, resolutely refusing to imagine Dean watching it, even as my cheeks heated. I was relieved when the receptionist finished up on the phone and called us over, forcing me to focus on the task at hand, rather than what Dean did in his downtime.

"Right, so. Here for an application or escort?" the woman enquired, glancing between Dean and I.

It took me a moment to realize what she meant.

"Wait—me?" I choked.

The woman's reply was cut off as a man dressed in nice suit—probably tailor-made—strolled into the room.

"With a little make-up and some better clothes, you could have a future here," he interjected with a smarmy smile. "I have a few customers who have been looking for an injured lady to fawn over."

The man glanced pointedly at the brace on my hand and clapped loudly before I could respond.

"Miranda! I have a new lady for you to work your magic on!"

A squat woman burst into the room, moving faster than I would have expected for someone of her stature. She began to flutter around me with a measuring tape, mumbling to herself something that I couldn't quite make out.

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa_!" Dean interjected, waving his hands in a distinctly negative motion. "She is _not_ here to become another one of your hookers."

The flurry of activity stopped as suddenly as it had began, every set of eyes now directed at Dean in a glare—apart from mine, which was undoubtedly radiating gratitude.

"I do not employ _hookers_," the man spat. "My ladies merely provide companionship for a select clientele."

"Your ladies? You're Larry?" I asked.

"I am _Lawrence T. Veluso the third_," the man sniffed.

"That's a mouthful," Dean muttered.

"Hence my simplification of Lawrence to _Larry_," Lawrence explained, his tone dripping with condescension and a little disgust, though whether the latter was directed at the nickname or Dean, was unclear.

Dean opened his mouth to reply and I quickly elbowed him before he could say anything that might get us thrown out. He glared at me, but seemed to concede my point when I gestured toward the frowning employees in front of us with what I hoped was a subtle tilt of my head.

"We're here to ask you a few questions about two of your employees." Dean announced, suddenly all business. He pulled out a black notebook from inside his coat. "Cassandra Reynolds and Tammy Hasher," he read aloud.

"I don't have time for the press," Lawrence replied dismissively.

"We're not with the press," Dean interjected before Lawrence could turn away. "I'm Detective Turner and this is Miss Thornton. We're from the Center for Disease Control."

When Lawrence remained skeptical, Dean fished a badge out of his wallet and flashed it at him.

"I already told their families that according to Section eight, paragraph C, we are not liable for their loss of sight," Lawrence sighed in exasperation. "They are responsible for treating any injury sustained outside of work."

"So the blindness was the result of an injury?" I asked, surprised that the doctor hadn't mentioned that.

Lawrence rolled his eyes.

"Well people don't just go blind, do they?"

I frowned at his tone, but otherwise chose not to comment. A glance at Dean showed that he was just as fed up with this guy as I was, though his expression remained unerringly blank. I wouldn't have noticed anything was amiss if not for his tensed jaw.

"Do you remember anything strange happening before they lost their sight? Might've been something they did, something they said?" Dean asked.

"Not that I can recall."

"What about their clients? Did they...ah..._escort_ anyone new?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say. All client interaction with my ladies is strictly confidential," Lawrence sniffed, not sounding apologetic in the least.

"Alright," Dean smiled. "You can either answer our questions and give us the contact information of _every_ client Cassandra and Tammy saw in the last week, or I can call the Director of the CDC and _he_ will make you do it anyway."

Lawrence scoffed at the threat and stood notably straighter. Dean quirked an eyebrow at him, but his smirk stayed in place as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed. Considering that the whole Center for Disease Control back story was a lie, I wondered who he was calling.

_Probably Sam_, I thought.

"Director Stevenson," Dean greeted. "Yes, yes. No, he isn't cooperating. Alright."

Dean handed the phone to Lawrence.

"Lawrence T. Veluso the third," he answered proudly.

I watched his smirk fade into a grimace at whatever was being said by the person on the other end of the phone.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss—no I don't want this spreading—I don't see how—" Lawrence protested as the other person kept cutting him off. "I understand," he sighed finally.

Lawrence handed the phone back to Dean and begrudgingly ordered his receptionist to gather the information we had asked for. Dean did a far better job of concealing his triumph than I would have expected.

"I don't know much about Mississippi law, but shouldn't a place like that be illegal?" I asked Dean once we were back in the Impala.

"Probably," Dean replied with a faraway look in his eye. "Something about all of this doesn't feel right," he muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Just feels like we're missing something important."

I furrowed my brows, considering Dean's words. I had felt unsettled since we got here, but I had attributed that to the memory of Dean's kiss and the establishment itself. Now I wondered if that uneasiness had something to do with the case too.

"So...back there. Who did you call?" I asked curiously.

"Just a friend of ours," Dean smiled. "He's got a couple phones set up for when we need him."

"A couple phones..." I repeated, considering. "How does he know when you'll need him? Does he just...sit there? Waiting for one of you to call?"

Dean shrugged.

"Don't know. Never thought about it, I guess."

...

Cassandra's family obviously didn't know much about her life. That became apparent when they started prodding us for information, along with the fact that they were under the impression that she worked for a temp agency. Tammy's family was similarly unhelpful, mainly because they lived in Colorado.

By the time we met up with Sam again, we hadn't found more than a list of the clients Cassandra and Tammy saw the week prior. Despite the company's extensively detailed catalog, all we had to go on were the names themselves. There were too many to simply visit, so that meant more research in order to narrow things down. Of course, I knew that if it came down to it, Sam and Dean would visit every name on that list.

That odd feeling that Dean mentioned seemed to have only grown stronger throughout the day. I still couldn't quite put my finger on why, but I knew something wasn't right. The brothers were being uncharacteristically quiet and it wasn't until now that I realized the silences between us had gradually lengthened. I might have blamed myself if I wasn't just as tight-lipped.

Today had been exhausting and I could feel my eyes beginning to droop as we left the Chinese Buffet Dean had insisted on revisiting. After having to wait ten minutes for one of the men behind the counter to fill up my drink in the back—the machines in the front were malfunctioning—I hoped that Dean had gotten his taste for their food out of his system. I was definitely ready for something else.

I listened to Sam and Dean mutter about the case on the ride back to the motel, though I didn't retain much. The steady stream of guitar through the speakers seemed more lulling than usual. The timbre of the brothers' voices only added to the feeling.

When we finally made it to the motel, I didn't have the energy to do more than stagger over to the bed. I knew I would regret napping in jeans when I awoke, but at the moment, I was much too tired to care. I had just enough presence of mind to kick off my shoes before I collapsed on top of the covers, sighing when my head settled on the pillow. I barely felt the bed dip before I was already asleep.

...

I groaned upon waking, already feeling off. I knew I would regret sleeping in jeans, but I had barely been able to make it to the bed, let alone retreat into the bathroom to change. I blinked rapidly against the ache in my eyes, wondering what time it was.

I couldn't make out anything in the darkness and I felt a moment of confusion before I realized that if the motel didn't have televisions, it wasn't really surprising that they didn't have digital clocks either. Without those familiar glowing red numbers to dictate the time, the room remained shrouded in darkness.

I shifted out of bed as quietly as I could and felt my away across the room. Memories of that shop in Kennewick filled the darkness and I remembered the fear of being unable to see my attacker coming. My heart beat faster despite myself and it was with relief that my fingers finally met the cool glass of the bathroom door.

Trailing my palm across the door, I felt along the wall until I reached a light switch. I flicked it on and frowned when the room remained dark. There wasn't even a spark to indicate a bad bulb. Perhaps the power had gone out.

I groaned, not looking forward to making the trek back to the bed. I decided to leave the switch flipped in case the light decided to turn back on. As I staggered back the way I had come, my thoughts kept returning to _Treasure Trove_ and finding Dean's unconscious form on the floor.

"Bella? What're you doing up?" Sam asked drowsily, making me jump.

I wondered how he had known it was me.

" Just trying to use the bathroom, but the power's out. Sorry if I woke you," I whispered, trying not to wake Dean, too.

"What?"

"I said I was just trying to use the bathroom," I whispered louder, grunting when I tripped over one of our bags. "Looks like the power's out, though."

"Bella...what are you doing?" Sam asked, his tone bewildered.

"Trying to find my way back to the bed," I grimaced. "It's so dark in here. I can't see anything."

I jumped when a warm hand grasped my arm. It only took me a split second to realize who it belonged to. Although it was odd that he had made contact, I was grateful for the help.

"Dean?" Sam said, confirming my thoughts.

"Did I wake you up too?" I sighed. "Sorry, it's just really hard to navigate in the dark."

Dean's hand tightened on my arm and I wondered if he was angry. I knew the brothers had trouble sleeping sometimes. Though Sam was usually the one who had a harder time getting some rest, Dean probably didn't get as many hours as he should have, either.

"Bella, you can't...you can't see, can you?" Sam asked suddenly, his tone strange.

"Of course I can't see," I scoffed. "It's pitch black in here."

The brothers were silent long enough for doubt to settle in. I didn't understand what was so strange about not being able to see in the dark, until suddenly, I remembered where we were and what we were investigating.

"Isn't it?" I swallowed, trying not to panic.

"I don't know what you're saying, but Bella, I think... I think you've gone blind," Sam confirmed gently. "And I think I've gone deaf."

"Deaf," I repeated in surprise, focusing on Sam's words. "I understand the blindness, but how could you have lost your hearing?"

"I'm not very good at reading lips," Sam replied.

"Right. You can't hear me... But what about Dean?"

I turned toward the direction his hand was coming from, realizing that he hadn't spoken once since I woke him up. I might've attributed his silence to grumpiness over having his sleep disrupted, except he was more of the type to grumble and complain.

"Dean seems to have lost his voice."

"I'm sorry, what?"

...

I pressed my back against the headboard, breathing deeply. I kept my eyes open, though I had little hope that my eyesight would miraculously return. Somehow, keeping them shut seemed worse, so although I suspected I looked strange darting my gaze around the ceaseless darkness, I refused to close my eyes for longer than a blink.

Sam and Dean were currently engaged in a conversation that remained verbally one-sided. I couldn't see what they were doing, but the scratch of pen on paper was pretty telling. Still, though I knew Dean was talking in his own manner, it sounded odd to listen to Sam seemingly talk to himself.

One of them had handed me my own notepad and pen, though I had neglected to use it thus far, focused more on quelling my panic over being unable to see.

"See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil," Sam recited.

I nodded in agreement—the phrase was familiar.

"It has something to do with three wise monkeys," Sam answered Dean. "No, I don't know much more than that. We'll need to do some research."

"I guess it'll have to be one of you," I sighed, suddenly realizing how useless I had just become in this situation. "Since I wouldn't be able to see the laptop screen."

"What?"

I sighed again, but rather than write all of that out, I simply covered my eyes.

"Right," Sam replied, getting the message. "So, Bella will need to stay here since she can't see. One of us needs to go back to the morgue. See if there were other victims missing their voices or hearing."

I fidgeted on the bed, suddenly nervous. They wouldn't leave me here alone, would they?

"Dean, I think you should stay with Bella," Sam said, as if he had heard my thoughts.

I stopped tapping my leg, turning my head toward where I estimated Dean to be, though I knew it didn't really matter—I couldn't see anything anyway.

"You're right. I won't be able to find out much without my hearing," Sam agreed. "But that's also why I can't stay with Bella. She can't see and I wouldn't be able to hear her."

"I know," Sam answered. "I'm gonna call Bobby for back-up."

I picked up my pen and wrote my question as neatly as I could, taking care to space the letters apart to be legible.

"Who's Bobby?" I asked.

"He's—oh. Hold on. Dean's writing something," Sam informed me. "Dean says, _he's that guy who answers the phones_," Sam recited in a confused tone.

"Oh."

A thought struck me and I quickly picked up my pen, only to be stilled by Dean's hand on my arm in a halting gesture. I furrowed my brows, wondering what was wrong.

"Dean says he'll write your question down for me," Sam explained. "It'll go faster."

"Right," I acknowledged, though part of me resented the loss of the ability to speak for myself too. "I wanted to know how you two planned on calling your friend if one of you can't hear and the other can't talk."

I waited as Dean jotted down the question, listening to the scratch of the pen.

"Yeah... That's gonna be tricky."

...

_**Larry's Lascivious Ladies **_**does not exist. The establishment is entirely fictional.**


	24. No Evil: Part III

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><span>_"No Evil"_

**58:00**

As it turned out, getting a hold of Bobby Singer wasn't as difficult as it sounded. With a few text messages explaining our situation and one humorous—though mostly one-sided—conversation, the brothers' friend was on his way. Lacking my own cell phone, I often forgot about that method of communication. I was fairly certain that if Dean could talk, he would've been teasing me about that fact.

Although reaching Bobby had been surprisingly simple, another problem arose when the brothers revealed that he was somewhere in South Dakota. Neither brother had mentioned it yet, but I knew what was on all of our minds—our clock.

The other victims had died exactly sixty hours after losing their sight and unless there was some variation among the other sensory deprived, that was all we had. Worse still, was the fact that we had no idea where that countdown currently resided.

How long had we been without our senses before waking?

It was a question I refused to ask, knowing that it would do nothing but worsen the situation. There was no way of knowing the answer and dwelling on that fact wasn't going to help anyone. Still, although I could resist mentioning this aloud, I couldn't seem to stop thinking about it.

"Mizaru, Kikazaru, and Iwazaru," Sam read off what I imagined was his laptop screen. "The names of the three wise monkeys. Sight, hearing, and speech. They're symbols of the Kōshin faith."

I sat on the edge of the bed, unable to do much more than listen to the scratch of Dean's pen as he helped Sam do research. With Bobby about a half a day's drive away, we were left with only Sam's laptop and Dean's journal to aid us.

Neither of them had exactly said so—at least, not verbally—but I knew I was the reason behind that. Without my sight, I was too much of a liability to take with them. Although they probably could have gotten by with each other, I knew they were reluctant to leave me alone. While I was grateful for their company, I hated knowing that I was holding them back.

I also couldn't help but feel an acute anger at whatever was causing this. Although I wouldn't wish my sudden blindness on either of the brothers, I didn't understand why I had been chosen to suffer through this aspect of the sensory deprivation.

It was like this thing—whatever was responsible—was taunting me. I already felt useless around the brothers more often than not, but this was so much worse. Without my sight, I truly became everything that I feared—a burden. There was nothing for me to contribute now, not with my most important sense gone.

"Yeah," Sam said in response to whatever Dean had written, "the number does crop up a few times. The Zodiac calendar has a sixty-year cycle. The Kōshin festival was held on the sixtieth day of the calendar. And...something called Kōshin-Machi happened every sixty days."

I wished Sam would read what Dean was writing aloud like he had earlier, but I was afraid to draw attention to myself. The less they focused on the latest addition to my list of weaknesses, the better.

"I'm checking..." Sam replied. "It says that during the night, the Sanshi will leave the person's body and report their bad deeds to the Ten-Tei. If deemed bad, the Ten-Tei decide whether to punish them through sickness, shortening their life, or sometimes death."

I blinked at the surrounding darkness, trying not to think about how I might never see anything again.

"The Sanshi are three worms that live in the body," Sam explained. "Apparently, they keep track of the person's good and bad deeds."

_Worms?_

I looked down at myself reflexively, sighing when I remembered that I still couldn't see. I tried to focus on my other senses, keeping my feet planted firmly on the floor. That simple point of contact was surprisingly comforting. In a world of complete darkness, it would be easy to lose myself—a feeling that had begun to rise as I reclined against the headboard.

Moving to the end of the bed and placing my feet on the wood had allowed me to ground myself a little in the oppressing darkness. I clutched the quilt beneath me as memories of my crawl across the floor in Kennewick threatened to spill over.

"It also says that some people try to stay awake during these nights, to prevent their Sanshi from reporting their bad deeds," Sam continued.

"I can't imagine they were very successful," I thought aloud. "I was barely able to make it to the bed last night."

The scratch of Dean's pen paused for a moment, before resuming.

"We were all exhausted," Sam replied, thoughtfully. "That must've been caused by whatever is doing this."

I wondered if Dean's hand was beginning to cramp up as the scratches continued.

"That's the thing, the Kōshin-Machi only happens during the Year of the Monkey, and those only occur every twelve years. The last one happened two years ago, so that can't be it."

"Wasn't that when the blind cases started? Two years ago?" I asked.

Sam and I waited for Dean to transcribe my words.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed. "But, according to this, they should've stopped. If this Kōshin ritual is real, then we shouldn't be suffering the effects now."

Dean's writing continued.

"Unless they found a way around it," Sam read aloud, much to my relief. "Maybe. But gods are usually pretty strict about their rituals. If they're neglecting their own rules, then something or someone else might be controlling them."

"Someone could do that?" I asked in disbelief.

"We've seen it happen before," Sam replied, once Dean had finished. "Not with gods, but other things."

I took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. If whoever was responsible for stealing our senses did so through controlling three gods, I couldn't imagine this ending well.

...

**55:00**

"Thanks."

I took the wrapped burger, uncertain which brother had handed it to me—Sam, unable to hear me, or Dean, unable to reply. Without my sight, it was difficult to decipher much about my surroundings. The layout of the room was hazy in my memories, lacking any real familiarity. I had limited myself to the bed thus far, using it as a kind of base. Keeping contact with the soft quilt and hard floor had worked well for the most part, barring one embarrassing trip to the bathroom.

I peeled the wrapper off as delicately as I could, mindful of the edges. Although I managed to prevent any cuts, I grimaced as some of the condiments got on my hands. Without my eyesight, they had become very important in navigating my surroundings. I didn't want to smear the unknown sauce around, so I licked off the mess as surreptitiously as I could, hoping neither of the brothers had noticed.

The burger felt greasy and sloppily put together, while the taste seemed both heavy and lacking. It was a strange experience, but judging by the vigorous chewing coming from Sam and Dean, I was the only one who was put off. I suspected the blindness had something to do with it, as the lack of sight made some of my remaining senses more prominent.

I wasn't developing super hearing or anything like that—which was actually kind of unfair, when I stopped to think about it—but it became easier to pick through the noise. My world had devolved, forcing me to rely on mostly sound and touch. This emphasis reminded me of another time in my life, when I risked everything simply to hear Edward's voice.

I hated that my thoughts kept shifting there, that this new loss forced me to remember. It made the darkness all the more stifling, knowing that Edward's voice was gone. It was like being abandoned all over again, left to trudge my way through a void so endless, so deep, that the light seemed almost like a distant memory.

I jumped at the cold press against my knee, blinking blearily around me as my hand darted forward. When my fingers met the damp paper, I realized what it was. I wrapped my hand around the cup, mumbling a quiet thanks to whoever had handed it to me. I immediately bent to take a drink, wincing when I accidentally jabbed the straw in my eye. Holding the cup between my knees, I tried to rub the pain away.

"How long do we have?"

The question finally slipped out, my jaw clenched as I resisted the urge to throw my soda across the room. I swallowed against my rising frustration, listening to the rummaging my question had prompted.

"Saturday," Sam eventually answered. "Sometime between seventeen and eighteen hundred hours."

I calculated the hours in my head, translating the military time. Seventeen hundred hours was five at night, meaning that if we didn't stop this, we would be dead before six. That knowledge, more foreboding than comforting, was made worse by the realization that I would be dying two weeks after leaving Forks.

I imagined the look on Jacob's face when the news inevitably reached him, the sense of justification he would feel knowing that he had been right, that I couldn't handle this life with the brothers.

"Don't worry," Sam said in that reassuring tone of his. "We'll find a way to stop this."

...

**52:00**

Even without my eyesight, I could tell the brothers were growing restless. With Bobby Singer still several hours away and the clock ticking, these idle moments were beginning to feel like torture. The brothers had poured over the lore and Sam's computer skills could only yield so much. The lead we truly needed to follow still remained within the medical records.

A sense of restlessness was beginning to fill the room, a desperate need to be proactive. The heavy thump of footsteps—one of the brothers pacing—and the sporadic clicking of Sam's keyboard enhanced the mood, driving my own anxiety higher. Being rendered useless was painful enough, but I couldn't take the awareness that I was holding them back as well.

"I don't think you two should wait anymore."

I listened to their movements stop and shift, but didn't wait for their reply.

"Even without your voice or Sam's hearing," I addressed Dean, "you two could make a lot more progress out there."

"Maybe," Sam replied, after Dean had transcribed my words. "But we can't just leave you here."

"Yes, you can," I argued. "Look, I understand that it isn't safe here. You know I do. But we're running out of time and I don't want to be the reason we die."

I held my breath, anticipating the brothers' replies, uncertain which one I hoped for.

"She has a point, Dean," Sam acknowledged. "Bobby's still four hours away and we really can't afford to waste anymore time."

"So, you'll go, then?" I asked.

"I know," Sam replied to whatever Dean had written. "Dean and I are going to get those medical records," he announced. "But that's it. We really don't want to leave you alone for too long."

I nodded, hoping my warring feelings of relief and dread were hidden from the brothers' sight.

...

Intellectually, I knew the brothers hadn't been gone long. The chain sliding home and the cool metal of the links still seemed to echo in their sound and touch, pulsing against silence and skin. My forehead remained pressed into the wood of the door, my hands splayed on either side.

In this moment, I was grounded—anchored to the brothers and this job. I understood their absence, had even suggested it, and the fear meant nothing because there was never a choice. With our hours dwindling, I couldn't be the cause of the brothers' inactivity, regardless of the prospect of being confronted by Victoria or the culprit behind these murders.

I knew all of this, but I was still afraid. I hated being alone and a small part of me, buried somewhere deep and dark, insisted that I would rather die than suffer this abandonment. Time was beginning to slip away, swallowed by the nothingness along with my sight. That realization had kept me rooted to the door since the brothers left. If I released this final physical connection, I feared the darkness would consume me.

I exhaled, feeling the heat of my breath pushed back against my face. Clenching my eyes shut, I fought to shove my anxieties down. I turned slowly, keeping one palm against the door as I opened my eyes. My breathing picked up when I was greeted by the darkness again, but I didn't stop moving.

Tentatively, I stepped forward, allowing my hand to slide from the door to the wall beside it. I trailed my fingers along the cool wall, breathing deeply in and out. I tried to remember the layout of the room, visualizing my current location.

I didn't want the brothers to find me like this—scratching at the door like a forgotten pet, waiting for her owners. Laurent's words had struck a nerve that day in the meadow. I couldn't help but wonder if he had been right—that I had been nothing better than a lovesick puppy trailing the Cullens' heels.

I grunted in surprise as my foot collided with a bulky object along the wall, snagging my ankle. My hands shot outward instinctively, trying to prevent my fall. I hissed when my injured hand struck a hard surface as I toppled to the floor. Something hit my shoulder and suddenly, my back was soaked.

I curled in on myself, cradling my hand as the thrumming pain mirrored the jarring shake of my knees and elbows. Apart from the cool liquid seeping through my clothes and onto my skin, the experience was eerily reminiscent of my fall in Kennewick. My body shook as laughter spilled out, the harsh and shaky noise filling the emptiness around me.

...

Leaning against the wall, I tried to ignore my soaked shirt and sticky skin. I pulled damp strands of hair off of my cheeks, grimacing in discomfort. Dirty and emotionally wrung out, all I wanted was a warm bath to scrub off the soda and shame.

Considering my inability to simply make it to the bed, I didn't think taking a bath would be a good idea. While I could probably crawl my way to the tub, I needed my eyesight to find the proper hygiene products, as well as to locate my clothes.

Besides, with the chain barring the door, I couldn't sequester myself into the bathroom just yet. As much as I wanted to try to clean away the evidence of my failure, I knew it was pointless. Without my sight, chances were that I would just make things worse. Pressing my forehead into my knees, I gripped my legs and waited for the brothers to return.

...

The turn of a key jolted me out of my thoughts, the harsh pull of the chain making me flinch. Untangling my limbs, I slowly stepped closer to the door, mindful of my vulnerability and how easily a stranger could have snatched the key.

"Bella? It's us," Sam's voice announced.

I blew out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding, moving closer to the door.

"Okay," I replied. "Let me remove the chain."

I both felt and heard the door shut as my hand slid from wall to wood, feeling my way to the metal. I removed the chain and quickly stepped back, cautious of tripping as I pressed the side of my body along the wall.

The thump of Sam and Dean's boots sounded louder than they had before, but that was more of a relief than anything. I had missed their rustling and vocally one-sided conversations, though nowhere near as much as my eyesight.

"What happened?" Sam asked, likely noticing the mess I had made. "Bella, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I answered, nodding for Sam's benefit. "Just...an accident," I finished lamely.

I kept my gaze pointed downward, recognizing that even if I couldn't see, the brothers still could.

"I'll clean it up," I reassured quickly. "I just need help finding some napkins."

I waited for the scribble of Dean's pen, surprised when I heard the clicking of buttons instead.

"It's easier if Dean just texts me," Sam explained, noticing my confusion. A moment passed before one of their phones dinged. "And don't worry about the mess. We'll clean it up."

"I can do it," I frowned.

As we waited for Dean's latest text message to arrive, I wondered if writing would've actually been faster.

"Seriously, don't worry about it," Sam insisted. "I'll take care of it while you get cleaned up."

"I'm fine," I answered reflexively.

"Are you sure about that?" Sam asked, not even waiting for Dean to transcribe my reply.

I wondered if Sam was getting better at reading lips or if I had become predictable.

"You look miserable."

"I won't be able to find the stuff I need," I muttered.

This time, there was a distinct ding before Sam replied.

"Dean says he'll help," Sam replied.

I didn't want their help with such a simple task, but the layer of dried soda on my skin wasn't going to come off any other way. Unless the brothers managed to finish this job quickly, I had another two days of blindness before the brain hemorrhage killed me. Dying would be bad enough without being sticky.

I nodded with a sigh, resigned to the embarrassment of having Dean run a bath for me.

"Can you grab my bag?" I asked, disconcerted with my inability to determine Dean's location in the room.

I felt along the wall, using my hands and feet to check for any obstacles before I took a step forward. I almost smiled when my toes brushed cool tile, realizing that I had managed to make it to the bathroom without the brothers' help. A sense of triumph filled me as I took a seat along the edge of the tub.

I listened to one of the brothers enter the bathroom—probably Dean—unsurprised when a bag landed along my feet.

"Thanks," I said, finding the zipper.

Something creaked beside me and the sound of running water filled the room. I tried not to think about our current situation or what had occurred in Rosedale as I searched for the items I needed. The undergarments were the simple part—couldn't confuse those, really. I didn't harbor much hope for the shirts and bottoms, though I didn't think I could go wrong with a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

I stuffed the bra and underwear between my shirt and jeans, blushing at the thought of Dean noticing. It was becoming more difficult to ignore the memory of his kiss with the silence between us. Despite the sharp jabs often scattered amongst his teasing, I was already missing his voice.

"Can you put the shampoo on the left side of the faucet and the conditioner on the right?" I asked, grimacing at how that sounded. "Just so I can tell the difference," I explained hurriedly.

I dipped my fingers into the tub to check the water's height, flinching as it burned my skin. Another series of creaks and the water stopped flowing, leaving the bathroom in silence. I chewed on my lip nervously, wondering if I was forever doomed to a series of awkward interactions with everyone around me.

"So, um...thanks." I cleared my throat. "For this."

I nearly slipped off of the side of the tub when Dean's hand suddenly touched my shoulder. It took an embarrassingly long moment for me to realize that the gentle squeeze was probably just his way of replying. I remained rooted in place as Dean's steps moved away, listening to the roll of the screen door. For a few moments, I stared at the general area I figured the door to be, contemplating the warmth of his hand.

I shook my head and stood, blushing as I waved my hand around the room. While I didn't think the brothers would try to sneak a peak, I couldn't resist the urge to check. I was uncomfortable enough having to take a bath with two grown men in the other room, let alone while being unable to see.

Satisfied that I was as secure as the circumstances allowed, I peeled my damp and sticky clothes off. Holding tightly to the side of the bathtub, I slowly lowered myself into the water, blowing out a long breath at the feeling of the nearly unbearable heat. A shower would have been far more convenient, though I recognized that this method of bathing was probably safer, considering my current disability.

Still, despite my previous misgivings, the water did feel nice. The surrounding heat was comforting, soothing the little aches and pains in my limbs. By the time I had washed the soda out of my hair and scrubbed the stickiness off of my skin, I was feeling almost normal. As I reclined deeper in the water, I allowed myself to pretend that the darkness around me was simply the back of my own eyelids.

...

Feeling refreshed and a little less like breaking, I took my place against the headboard and listened to the brothers—well, Sam, anyway—recap what they had learned at the hospital. According to the medical records, there were several cases of the suddenly mute or deaf dying of brain hemorrhages roughly sixty hours later.

"It turns out that one of the mute victims, John Manner, had represented Leonard Finnley when he was being tried for possession of...child pornography," Sam said, the disgust evident in his tone.

"Leonard Finnley...why does that name sound familiar?" I wondered aloud.

"One of the blind victims," Sam replied, once he had received Dean's text message. "The guy was arrested here when he was caught loitering around the local playgrounds. The other charges came later, but by then, he was already suffering from blindness."

The following ding signified another comment from Dean.

"I think you're right," Sam agreed.

"What did Dean say?"

"Whatever's going on, it's definitely not random," Sam explained after a moment. "Finnley going blind after being arrested for watching children... Manner losing his voice after agreeing to represent him... They weren't just victims. They were targets."

"Right," Sam replied to Dean. "Both of them lost their most important sense. In a sense." Sam cleared his throat.

"Is that what happened to us?"

"Well, it makes sense," Sam eventually answered. "If anyone can talk himself out of a situation, it's Dean. And you seem more observant than most people," he pointed out. "No, Dean. I'm not saying that." He sighed. "And Dean says I get my jollies playing a sympathetic ear."

I smiled a little, remembering the conversation Dean and I had in regards to Sam's compassion. When Sam put things like that, each of our losses made a lot of sense. The only thing I couldn't figure out was why we had been targeted in the first place. While I didn't consider myself to be especially good, I didn't think I was on the same level as a pedophile.

"Why us, though?"

The brothers remained quiet for what seemed like much longer than the question warranted. I chewed my lip, wondering if I was missing something. It suddenly struck me that while I currently had a decent handle of understanding Sam and Dean, their pasts were still something of a mystery. If Edward could go from a bloodthirsty vigilante to a vegetarian high school student, there was no telling what Sam and Dean's lives could have been like before.

"We don't know," Sam eventually answered.

...

**48:00**

Meeting Bobby Singer was an interesting experience. It probably would've been impossible to make a good first impression on a friend of the brothers in any situation, but the blindness certainly didn't help. I felt awkward reaching for his hand, uncertain where to direct my gaze.

"So you're the girl the Cold Ones are after," Bobby confirmed.

I shrugged in response, uncertain how much the brothers had revealed to him. They were already skeptical of the Cullens and I didn't want to alert another Hunter to their existence. There was little I could deduce about Bobby without my eyesight, but his gruff voice certainly didn't suggest that he would take the information lightly.

I listened as Sam recounted everything that we had learned since arriving in Maple Springs, occasionally interrupted by his cell phone. Although their conversation was hardly personal, I couldn't help but feel like I was intruding just by being there.

"So the idjiots let you go blind, too," Bobby grumbled once Sam had finished.

"It wasn't their fault," I insisted, both surprised that he had addressed me and that he blamed the brothers.

"Yeah, well, this isn't the first time they've gotten themselves knee-deep in somethin' like this."

It was odd—not being on the receiving end of Bobby's criticism. Everyone in my life seemed intent on lecturing me about my supposed affinity for trouble at one point or another. Between comments from Edward, Jacob, and Charlie, I was being to think that I might actually be a magnet for danger. Even Jessica had expressed concern over my behavior in Port Angeles. The only one who didn't seem to think I was reckless was Renee, but then, she had a tendency to take risks.

"It sounds like there's somethin' fishy going on over at that brothel you were talkin' about," Bobby said.

I smiled a little as I listened to Sam correct Bobby like he had Dean. They spent a few more minutes discussing what leads they wanted to follow, while Dean was given a few books that might contain information about the Three Wise Monkeys to read through during their absence. Apparently Bobby had an extensive personal library, featuring all manner of texts on the occult. I couldn't help but feel a little jealous of Dean, regardless of my aversion to reading since Edward's departure.

"Alright, I'll take Grandpa," Bobby announced and my smile grew a little bigger as I tried not to laugh. "Dean, you stay here and try not to get yourselves killed while we're gone."

My smile slipped, realizing that I was about to be left alone with Dean for what would probably be several hours. I had the brief urge to ask Sam and Bobby if I could join their team instead. The sound of the door swinging shut seemed to echo for several minutes as Dean and I were left in silence.

"So..." I said, needing some kind of noise. "I can't see you and you can't talk to me." I cleared my throat. "I'm not sure Sam thought this all the way through."

...

**There are two new videos for this story—a teaser and a fanvideo—which you can find through the links on my profile. This story is also now posted on AO3 under the same name (the only difference is that I have broken the episodes up into separate stories underneath one series).**


	25. No Evil: Part IV

The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel  
><em>"No Evil"<em>

**47:30**

The turning of pages, while comforting in the noise it created, served to remind me of my own incapacity. With Sam, Bobby, and Dean occupied, I felt uncomfortable remaining seated on the bed. I twisted the quilt in my hands, wondering if Dean noticed my fidgeting.

"You were right about the TV." The rustling of paper stopped—my only indication that he was listening. "It must be killing you, being unable to talk." I winced when one of the quilt's threads came loose. "I really wish you could talk," I muttered, smoothing my hands down my jeans.

A series of knocks interrupted our one-sided conversation and I turned toward where I estimated the door to be. Something must've happened for Sam and Bobby to have returned so soon. I furrowed my brows when the metallic clang of the key and lock remained absent. Another couple of knocks echoed in the room and I turned my head toward the sound, realizing my mistake.

"Dean?" The knocks continued. "Knock twice for no and three times for yes."

I couldn't restrain my smile when he responded with three sharp knocks.

"Clever," I said, relieved for the new method of communication.

It was comforting to know that we could carry a conversation if need be, albeit a simple one. At this point, I was willing to settle for just about anything as long as I had someone to talk to with the ability to reply, even if it was through primitive means.

Facing Dean, I realized the downside to this new system—I would have to carry the conversation. The silence stretched on as I tried to think of something to say. My thoughts wandered through the last couple of days, unable to avoid what occurred at the crossroads.

"So...that Demon." I cleared my throat. "She—they seemed more, well, normal than I expected. Is it safe to assume that everything I've seen about monsters in movies is wrong?" I asked. "I mean...the Demon that was possessing Donald was actually kind of...eloquent. Nothing like Linda Blair vomiting split pea soup."

Dean replied with two slow knocks.

"Some of it is real, then?" I asked, trying to interpret his hesitance.

Three knocks.

I doubted the early horror films contained much realism. Classic monsters like Frankenstein's monster and the Wolf Man didn't seem to fit in this world of ghosts, witches, and demons. Even Dracula lacked relevance, despite the existence of vampires. I wondered what had happened, what misunderstanding had taken place to lead to the alteration of their lore so thoroughly in mainstream society.

I stood up and used my hand to follow the length of the bed with slow, deliberate steps. When I reached the frame, I continued to the wall and turned to lean against it. I lowered myself to the floor, straightening my legs and sighing at the coolness seeping through my thin shirt. The hard wall and floor felt far more real than the soft bedding had.

"Find anything useful, yet?" I asked after a few minutes.

Two knocks.

"You know what I don't understand?" I pulled my right leg closer and wrapped my arm around it. "Why didn't anyone notice? Random cases of blindness seem odd enough. But deaf and mute, too?" I rubbed my eye, blinking against the ache. "I get that most people wouldn't make the leap to a supernatural cause. But even medically, someone should have noticed. Even Dr. Harvey didn't make the connection. Are people really just that oblivious?"

Three knocks.

The thought of how unaware people were, how easily they carried on while their friends died around them made me queasy. No one noticed the timed deaths, fairy tale massacres, or skinned children. No one noticed walking statues with molten eyes that shifted to fathomless and dark in a single red drop. Twin suns eclipsed by blood and the spidery blue lines under flesh.

"You know, I noticed there was something different about, well, _them_ the first time I saw them." I rubbed my eyes harder. The ache probably wasn't real. "They didn't eat, they barely talked, and he—he _growled_ at these guys." My exhale turned into a chuckle. "I might not have known what they were, but I knew there was something different about them." I laughed, feeling my nose and eyes begin to tingle. "Hell, Edward even let it slip that he could read minds on our first date!" My smile faded and the tingle in my eyes and nose grew stronger. "I..." I swallowed.

_I probably shouldn't have told you that_, I thought silently.

The world might have already emptied for all of the sound I could pick up in that moment.

"Is this what happens when you lose your sight?" My eyes twitched, but I refused to rub them this time. "You start babbling to compensate? Why couldn't it have enhanced my hearing instead?"

Dean remained idle, both in reply and movement, but then, my question lacked the potential for a yes or no answer. I could have rephrased it, made it more palpable, or remade it in an effort to draw his attention away from what I had revealed. I pushed myself up the wall and felt my way toward the bathroom, aware of the futility of trying to distract Dean. I flicked the light switch out of reflex and left it on for a sense of normality. The splash of cold water on my cheeks certainly felt familiar. The lack of heat, however, did not.

...

The green and browns of the peeling bark and crumpled leaves had faded, but the forest seemed familiar. My feet scraped through the dirt, which seemed more like water with the way I moved. The clawing branches elicited a smile, even while digging shallow cuts into my arms. I watched the rust well up through the cracks, continuing to run between the living columns.

The difficultly of my progress lessened the further I ran, almost as if the trees had stepped aside. The polite tip of a trunk and the curl of a branch inward welcomed me deeper into the grayed forest. Vines slipped down the scratchy skin of the trees to pool around their trunks. The fleshy tendrils crumbled into ash under the pressure of my feet.

The forest drained the sound from my steps, the hue from my flesh. Only the panting remained—my panting, the last, or an echo in my ears, in my memory. Branches curved further into their trunks and slipped from existence. The ground, the trees, the air—they all stopped.

Darkness filled my mouth, my ears, and the gaping sockets where my eyes used to be.

...

**44:50**

I choked and flailed and maybe I was falling, but I couldn't tell, couldn't see. Something hard shook through my knees and elbows and I tipped my head down, pressing my forehead against it. My body curved in on itself and I wheezed, feeling thick drops scrape over my tear ducts and down my nose. Darkness clogged my lungs and I could almost feel it pushing up between the webbing of my fingers.

Something pulled me away from the floor—twin pressures on my shoulders. I struggled against it, the grasping darkness, but my limbs refused to cooperate, like my bones had been scooped out. The grip on my shoulders slid to my upper arms—warm flesh—and urged me to turn. The hands shifted along with my body, one moving to cradle the back of my head, while the other smoothed up and down my spine. I allowed the hand to angle my head down and inhaled the fabric around my nose and mouth.

The smell of soap and oil replaced the darkness in my lungs and my wheezing faded. I clenched my hands for a moment, digging my knuckles into the floor. Dean's grip tightened and I wrapped my arms around him, returning the pressure. The only sound that remained—my rushed inhales and exhales.

"What if it's permanent?" I clenched my eyes shut and rubbed the ache into Dean's shoulder. "What if even after we stop this thing," my voice shook, "I'm still blind, you're still mute? What then?"

My breathing continued to fill the room and I dug my fingers into Dean's back. The hand on my head slid down my back and to the floor.

One knock—I couldn't be sure I actually heard.

...

I wondered what I looked like, under the unforgiving bathroom lights. The cool lid of the toilet coupled with the tile under my bare feet helped ground me. Dean remained soundless, apart from a rustle of fabric and the interruption of running water that signaled his movements. I tried not to flinch when the rough washcloth—had to be, judging by the size—scraped at my cheeks. They felt dirty, a layer of dried tears coating my skin. I tried to ignore the sensation of darkness clogging my eyes. That couldn't have been real. They were only tears.

I could feel Dean's fingers through the fabric, swiping underneath one of my eyes. I sucked in a breath at the sting, but otherwise refused to react. The pressure of the digits felt light, though they still made my eyes ache. I probably should have taken the washcloth away from Dean, insisted on taking care of myself, but I couldn't. There was something oddly comforting about Dean's ministrations, for all the pain and awkwardness it might have caused.

Dean's fingers dragged down my cheeks and around my lips, before returning to my nose. My cheeks heated when he swiped around my nose and I hoped that my clogged nostrils remained so. The idea of Dean cleaning snot off of my face was far more embarrassing than the mouth-breathing. I sniffled a little, wincing at the resulting ache between my eyes.

"I'm sorry," I said, once Dean had finished patting my face dry.

I waited for the knocks. Two would have denied the sincerity of my apology, while three would have confirmed the need to offer him one. In the end, there weren't any knocks, just a firm squeeze of my shoulder with his hand.

"I'm not sure what that means," I said.

Any reply Dean might have made, whether in sound or pressure, faded under the noise of the door opening. I only had the rush of air in front of me to signal Dean's departure. I listened to the rustle of paper and the tap of their boots, smoothing my hair and adjusting my clothes without the benefit of my reflection.

"Dean, what happened?" I heard Sam ask. "There's blood on your shirt."

I jerked toward the door and held onto the frame, searching the darkness for a hint of red.

"Blood?" Even with my clogged nose, I thought I could smell its rusty scent. I remembered my thrashing on the floor, while Dean tried to comfort me. The skin underneath my nails itched.

"He says he's fine," Sam said, after the clicking had stopped. "Just nicked himself shaving."

I slumped against the frame, exhaling.

"If you're done discussing Dean's beauty secrets," Bobby said, "it's time we got to work."

...

**44:10**

"Dean, you can translate. I'm tired of playin' charades with your brother."

My lips curved into something of a smile. The bedding beneath me offered little solidity in comparison with the floor, but I made do. The nightmare and breakdown left my head somewhat fuzzy and I doubted Dean's washcloth had removed all traces of them. Neither Sam nor Bobby had commented on my appearance yet, but I imagined that clinging to the floor would loosen their tongues.

"According to the medical records, there have been eleven victims of sensory deprivation who died of brain hemorrhages in the past two years," Sam recited. "Six reported blindness, two deaf, and three mute."

"Eleven people died in this town and no one noticed?" I wondered aloud.

"Only five of them were locals," Bobby replied.

I chewed on my lip and restrained myself from lowering my head. I had gotten used to the delay between my questions and the brothers' replies. Having someone around who could both listen and speak made me oddly nervous, despite the accompanying relief.

"All of them did visit the same hospital," Sam added, once Dean had finished relaying the conversation. "So whatever's happening to invoke the three monkeys, it's originating here."

"Mystical monkey powers or not, a spell like that is gonna take some serious mojo," Bobby said, the sound of clicking keys following. "Any of you misplace some blood, hair or saliva?"

"So that's true, then?" I couldn't help but ask. "Those things can really hold that much power over someone?"

"Parts of the body can affect the whole," Bobby replied. "Spirits use it to hang on and witches use it to target their victims."

Gertrude had demonstrated that when she forced Dean to choke down those desserts in Kennewick. In theory, inescapable gluttony should have ranked worse than a little sense deprivation. However, in practice, I found myself feeling more of the opposite. The immediacy and the directness of the threat in Kennewick had made it much easier to defeat. The curse Gertrude had inflicted on me had remained largely unnoticed until those final moments in the forest and in her shop.

Whatever mystical loophole I had unintentionally found in Kennewick remained absent in Maple Springs. This time, I had to suffer the effects of the spell or curse right alongside the brothers with a clock hanging over our heads. Though I appreciated the sense of camaraderie that came from sharing a burden, the lack of consistency worried me.

"What about food and drink? Ingest anything that was out of your sight?"

"Not really," Sam replied after a few moments. "Nearly everything we've consumed since arriving has been from sealed containers. If the fast food or buffet items were spiked with anything, there would be more people suffering the effects."

"So you haven't lost anything, haven't taken anything, and Ariel didn't find any hex bags while we were gone." Bobby sighed. "We have to be missing something."

"What I don't understand is why we're even being targeted," I sighed, picking at a loose thread.

"One of you must've pissed someone off," Bobby replied.

"Or they knew we were Hunters," Sam suggested.

"What about Lawrence?" I asked, recalling his annoyance with Dean. "He didn't seem too happy with us investigating."

"He checked out."

"Besides, that guy really didn't seem like the kind of person to take the moral high ground," Sam added.

"I thought you couldn't hear anything?" I glanced in the direction of Sam's voice.

"I can't," Sam replied, "but I do have eyes. Judging by his body language—"

"And you don't want to underestimate the importance of body language..." I mumbled to myself.

I tried not to choke at the idea of Lawrence shaking his hips to the tune while attempting to entice Dean into making a deal. I blinked the image away and finally noticed the silence. I must've spoken louder than I thought. I opened my mouth to apologize—making jokes at Dean's expense was rather unfair considering how kind he had been about my blindness—and sputtered when something soft smacked me in the face before falling into my lap. I squeezed the object—must've been a pillow—and pointed what I hoped was a sufficiently contrite smile to the room at large.

"Sorry."

"We're getting nowhere with this," Bobby pointed out, the sound of his footsteps joining the persistent clicking of Sam's laptop and Dean's phone.

"Maybe we should be focusing on why we were targeted," Sam suggested. "If it's about our investigation, then why isn't Dr. Harvey dead?"

"He's been looking into the deaths longer than we have," I agreed. "And it sounded like he tried getting in touch with the CDC."

"Exactly."

"Killing the doctor would've drawn more attention," Bobby said. "Most of the victims are distant enough from each other to keep the CDC from sniffing around."

"Dean's right," Sam said in response to Dean's latest text. "The doctor's death would've screamed contamination."

"But wouldn't giving Dr. Harvey the chance to contact the CDC still yield the same result?" I asked.

"Eventually? Yes," Sam replied.

"And isn't killing us even more suspicious?" I asked, sitting up straighter. "For all the killer knows, we _are_ from the CDC."

"Bella's right. If it was about keeping things quiet, you three wouldn't have been struck deaf, blind, and dumb."

I coughed and cleared my throat, attempting to cover up my snicker.

"So what if it isn't about that?" Sam asked, his voice growing more animated. "What if we were targeted for the same reasons Tammy Hasher and Leonard Finnley died?"

"The killer could've seen Dean and I talking to Lawrence, but what about you, Sam?" I interjected. "Remember what you said before? How we each lose the sense that was most important to us?" I swallowed. "This-this punishment, or whatever it is—it was tailored to us."

"And that kind of precision wouldn't just be random," Sam agreed.

"It had to be all three of you," Bobby said.

"We went to the hospital together that first time," I said. "And the buffet."

"You three didn't go anywhere else?" Bobby asked.

"Not together, no."

"Dean's right—it must've been the buffet." The direction that Sam's voice originated from seemed to be shifting with each word. "Their soda machine was out-of-order when we went. They had to fill up our cups from another machine in the back."

"Someone could've spiked your drinks then," Bobby agreed.

"But what did we do to provoke them?" I wondered.

"You and Dean did throw things at each other," Sam reminded me.

I cleared my throat and, though the weight of their gazes made it a pointless endeavor, I tried to suppress a blush. My behavior during that meal had been somewhat childish, but it had seemed like the best way to distract Dean from his own darker thoughts at the time. I gripped the bedding beneath me, wondering if my actions had prompted the killer to target us.

"Whatever the reason," Bobby interjected, "it sounds like the buffet's our best bet."

...

**"And don't underestimate the importance of body language, ha!"  
>-Ursula; "Poor Unfortunate Souls" (The Little Mermaid)<strong>

**This chapter puts this series over 100,000 words! Congratulations to all of us for reading/writing a hell of a lot. I want to thank all of you who have continued reading and/or commenting, despite my sporadic updates. Being a full-time student with two jobs makes finding time to write difficult. Beyond that, I'm also supposed to be focusing more on my original work. Good thing I'm so obsessed with this series.**

**There is a blog dedicated to this series, if anyone is interested. It features teasers, fanart, fanvideos, gif sets, and some of my notes (including a list of upcoming episodes): .com**


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